The Assassin and the Showgirl
by Terpsichore92
Summary: Erik is a hitman working for a powerful druglord known as the Shah. When his employer decides to use a burlesque club as a money laundering front, Erik has a chance encounter with one of the performers that leads to an unlikely friendship. EC Modern AU Leroux/Kay
1. Chapter 1

Hey guys! So… For any of my lovely readers of Guarded Hearts who are wondering what I'm doing posting a new story when that one has sat dormant for the past year… I'm sorry? No, really, I am sorry for being a lazy writer, but I've just been struggling so much to come up with the inspiration to finish it. I started that story when I was still in high school and there's a lot about it that bothers me now that I'm an adult and I feel like my writing style has matured somewhat. So I'm honestly not sure if and when that story is going to get updated.

BUT! I have shamelessly plagiarized myself in this new story, so anyone dissatisfied with the lack of resolution to Guarded Hearts should hopefully find some satisfaction in similar, though not identical, characters and situations in here.

This story started off as a shamelessly self-indulgent little exercise to get over my writer's block, where I basically found all the ways I could be horrible to poor, virginal Erik and pile on the UST. I never intended to share this publically. But it seems to have spiraled away from me, somehow, and I now have a number of chapters already written, and a pretty clear path forward to the resolution. I promise, this time, I will actually finish what I started. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! And reviews would be most appreciated!

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The sign for Madame Giry's Burlesque Club cast a lurid red glow onto the street in front of it. Erik stood at its edges and stared at the heavy double doors with a feeling of resignation that bordered on dread. He knew that his employer owned a number of other properties, but as this one seemed to be his de facto center of operations, it was the one Erik always had to return to.

When he finally worked up the resolve to enter, it was to a room filled with leather sofas and lounge chairs, with pool tables and dart boards scattered around the perimeter. A bar stretched along the expanse of the back wall, its countertop carved out of mahogany and its shelves stocked with high-end liquor. And the patrons, who were a fairly even mixture of men and women, were all dressed in expensive suits or cocktail dresses. In fact, the only real testament to the fact that this wasn't just an upscale bar was the large stage at the front of the room rimmed with red velvet curtains. At least until someone took a closer look at the wait staff and noticed that all of the employees' garb, male and female alike, ranged from provocative evening wear to upscale lingerie.

A cursory glance at the stage revealed a pouting redhead in a slinky scarlet evening gown performing a rendition of Why Don't You Do Right. But while Erik quickly jerked his eyes down to avoid watching her, he couldn't quite keep himself from listening to and mentally critiquing her performance. Though the woman had obvious technical skill, he felt his mouth tightening in distaste at the lack of finesse to her performance. She seemed more concerned with showcasing the power of her voice than with matching the feel of the song, and the effect made the lyrics seem more petulant than sultry.

A movement out of the corner of his eye distracted his attention from the mediocre performance, and he glanced down the dark hallway leading towards the club's backstage area just in time to see a woman stumble and lurch to the ground, the heel of her shoe having snagged in the carpet. Erik guessed her to be an employee, given that her current outfit consisted of nothing but stockings and a vintage bra and skirt slip in matching pink silk. He studied her carefully for signs of injury, forcing his gaze not to linger anywhere inappropriate, but didn't move to her aid. He knew by now what sort of reception his offer of assistance would bring.

Despite the force with which she had hit the ground, the woman seemed more embarrassed than pained. She quickly rose to her feet, darting a glance around to ascertain how many people had noticed her fall. She seemed pleased to discover that no one seated at the nearby tables had turned from their conversations to look, but then her gaze locked with his.

Erik waited with bitter resignation for her to fully register his appearance and shrink back in fear or suspicion, as so many before her had done. He was understandably shocked, then, when she instead responded by hiding her face in her hands in apparent shame before peeking out to gift him with a sheepish smile.

Despite himself, he felt a smirk tugging at his lips, which caused her smile to widen in response as they shared the joke between them. Erik's breath tried to leave him at the way the expression lit up her features. She held a finger up to her lips, as if to swear him to secrecy, and then headed in a more cautious manner down the hallway.

Erik watched her go with a strange tightness in his chest. Had a woman ever really _smiled_ at him before? Not with forced politeness or cruel disdain, but actual warmth? He searched his memories and couldn't think of another occasion.

He felt a sudden urge to wait by the hallway until she emerged, notions of catching her attention with some playful quip as she passed him flashing through his head. A quick glance at the suspicious looks he was earning from the nearby patrons, though, was enough to bring him back to reality. With a disgusted scoff, he continued his path towards the roped off staircase at the back of the club, only to stop in his tracks as the object of his thoughts suddenly stepped onto the stage in front of him.

With the spotlight illuminating details that had previously been hidden in the gloom of the hallway, he found himself cataloguing her appearance almost against his will. She had honey blonde hair styled into wide curls, blue eyes, and porcelain pale skin. Her fair coloring, along with her high, striking cheekbones, made him suspect that she was of Scandinavian or Eastern European descent.

When the band struck up the introduction to Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend, which would explain the large amount of costume jewelry she had added to her ensemble since he saw her last, Erik found himself desperately hoping that she proved to be a terrible singer. Poor musicianship was an unforgivable offence in his eyes, and he was sure that it would be all that he needed to crush this strange, breathless feeling the woman was conjuring in his chest.

So of course it would be just his luck that she was sweetness incarnate as she sang, her voice gliding easily along the simple melody. Although the song was hardly strenuous enough to showcase her full potential, the sweetness of her tone and the playful sultriness of her performance were enough to have him utterly enraptured. And, god, the choreography wasn't helping. The rhythmic sway of her hips to the music, the flexible kicks of her long legs, the slide of her hands down her body…

The surge of lust that hit him felt like a punch to the gut, robbing him of breath and making his body harden painfully in response. And suddenly not even her singing was enough to hold him in place. Erik forcibly ripped his eyes away and practically ran across the room, to the staircase that led to the suite of VIP rooms upstairs.

The bouncer positioned in front of the stairs recognized Erik and ushered him through without comment. In the stairwell, he took a moment to compose himself, then continued down the hall to one of the lavishly furnished balconies, where several men were currently seated around a table in the midst of a game of poker. He determinedly kept his eyes from straying to the stage below them, but could do nothing for the siren song that continued to purl in his ears.

The man at the head of the table glanced up and smiled broadly upon seeing his visitor. He was Middle-Eastern, with dark hair that was graying at the temples, keen brown eyes, and a broad frame encased in an impeccably tailored pinstripe suit.

"Ah!" the man exclaimed jovially. "I was wondering if you would make it tonight."

Erik merely inclined his head in response.

"Why don't you have a seat and play a few rounds?" He gestured to an empty chair beside him and reached for the deck to deal Erik in.

"That won't be necessary. I just came to give you proof of completion." Erik reached within his leather jacket and pulled out a manila envelope, placing it on the table in front of him.

"Always so professional… You need to learn to have a little fun, my friend. What's the point of all this money I'm giving you if you never allow yourself to put it to good use?" Despite his admonishment, the man pulled an envelope of his own out of his jacket and tossed it to Erik.

Erik nodded his thanks, depositing the envelope within his pocket and heading back the way he had come.

"There's a bit of a situation developing, and I may have need of your services again very soon. I'll be in touch," the man called to his retreating form. "In the meantime, try to let loose a little, my friend." His voice took on a decidedly malicious tone as he continued, "Why not stay in the club for a while and let one of my girls show you a good time, eh?"

Erik descended the stairs to the sound of snickers from the rest of the men. Evidently, his discomfort around the club's employees had not gone unnoticed.

With fists clenched, he marched towards the exit, desperate to get out of this place, but had to stop short when he almost collided with the very woman he had been so entranced with earlier. She seemed to be working as a server now that her performance was over, and he couldn't help but to keep her in his gaze as she sauntered over to a table to deliver a drink.

"How about a private dance, sweetheart?" the man at the table asked in what was no doubt supposed to be a suggestive tone, though his attempt was impeded by the obvious drunken slur to his words.

The woman smiled at him, but shook her head apologetically. "Sorry, handsome. But we actually don't do those here."

Erik scoffed under his breath at her chosen moniker. The man was dressed in a rumpled, ill-fitting suit, with his hair hanging lank and greasy down to his shoulders and his beard growing in uneven patches. While Erik knew he certainly couldn't cast aspersions to someone's genetic appearance, there was no excuse for poor grooming.

"What, so you'll dance and tease up on the stage for everyone to see, but a guy can't pay for a little special attention?"

"Teasing is kind of the point of burlesque. We can't pay you _too_ much attention or it'll ruin all the fun," the girl joked with a wink, though she was starting to look uncomfortable.

"Aw, c'mon, baby. How much is it gonna take to get you to play along?" the man asked, pulling his wallet from his pocket with one hand while the other wrapped around her waist to pull her forward.

Any hint of a smile slipped from the woman's face, and her stare turned icy. "Let me go."

"Hush now, I'm just tryin' to have a little fun," the man purred into her neck, resisting her attempts to push him off of her.

Erik was halfway across the room before he even realized he had moved.

"You have exactly five seconds to get your hands off of her, or I will remove them for you. And I mean that quite literally."

The threatening proclamation caused everyone to jump, but while the woman's surprised gaze fixed on Erik, the man barely spared him a glance, keeping his arms clamped around the woman's waist and snorting scornfully.

"And just who the fuck asked you?" he spat dismissively.

"One," Erik began to count, somehow imbuing that single syllable with deadly promise.

The man finally deigned to look over at him, paling noticeably once he took in his towering frame, glaring golden eyes, and masked face. But, noticing the attention they had gathered from nearby patrons, he quickly pasted an expression of false bravado to his face and let out a snort.

"What the fuck are you supposed to be?" he asked, gesturing to Erik's face. "Some sort of masked vigilante? You've been reading too many comic books, man."

"Two," Erik continued icily. When he brought his arm behind his back to reach for the knife that he kept sheathed at the base of his spine, the man yanked his hands back as if they had been burned.

Erik quickly stepped forward to place himself protectively between the man and the waitress, who was still staring at him in shock.

"If I ever see you back here," he remarked coldly. "I promise to personally insure that you will never be capable of laying a hand on a woman ever again."

"That won't be necessary," a stern voice declared from behind him. He glanced around to see Madame Giry, the club's manager, flanked by two of her bouncers. "Should Mr. Buquet be foolish enough to return to this establishment, my staff have been instructed to prevent his entry. Now then, sir, I believe it is time for you to settle your tab and go."

Buquet's face twisted in resentment, but even in his drunken state he seemed to realize he was outnumbered, so he complied without protest when the bouncers grasped him by his biceps and led him from the building.

With him gone, some of Madame Giry's cold elegance softened, and she turned to the blonde employee to straighten a few of her wayward curls and peer at her in concern. "Are you alright, my dear?"

"I'm fine, Madame. He's not the first drunken creep I've had to deal with here. And usually I don't have tall, dark strangers swooping in to rescue me," she added, darting a glance to Erik with a slight smile.

Erik could only stare mutely in response, suddenly desperately uncomfortable and unsure of how to proceed in this situation.

"Ah, yes, it seems I owe you a further debt of gratitude, Erik. Thank you for looking out for my employees."

"Think nothing of it," he deflected, his eyes darting towards the door as he contemplated his escape.

"Well at least allow us to offer you a drink for your troubles." Madame Giry inclined her head towards the waitress, who nodded in understanding and turned to look at Erik expectantly, as if awaiting his order.

Erik couldn't help but notice how much bluer her eyes looked this close … God, he needed to get out of there.

"Actually, I'm afraid I must be going." With a polite incline of his head, he turned and started towards the exit.

"Wait!" the blonde woman called out suddenly, rushing forward to intercept his departure. "Please don't go before I've had a chance to thank you properly!"

Erik turned around to give her a startled look. Was she truly requesting _his_ continued presence?

"C'mon. Your chivalry at least earned you one free drink," she continued earnestly.

Ah, of course. She was just trying to be polite and repay him for his good deed. He fought back a bitter smile and shook his head.

"That's quite kind of you, but really it's not necessary."

"I know it's not _necessary_ ," she countered, rolling her eyes at him playfully. "But surely you've got time for one little drink. Please? It's the least I can do."

Against his better judgement he found himself relenting.

The woman shot him a beaming smile and beckoned for him to follow her over to a table.

"And what will my gallant rescuer be drinking tonight?"

"Vodka tonic, I suppose." He waited uncomfortably until she returned, setting a drink in front of him and shooting him a dazzling smile.

"I'm Christine, by the way. Erik, was it?"

"Y-yes," he returned, the word coming out less even than he would have liked. Would he ever get used to someone smiling at him like that?

Christine excused herself for a moment when she noticed a couple being seated in her section, and Erik found himself downing his drink rather quickly in his hurry to finish it and escape. To his chagrin, as soon as Christine had finished checking on all of her other tables, she returned to his and placed a refill before him.

At the questioning and slightly accusatory look that he shot her, Christine merely gave him a devilish grin.

"What?" she exclaimed with feigned innocence. "I said _at least_ one. I never set a maximum."

Erik felt a grin twisting at his lips in spite of his best efforts to stifle it. The answering smile that she gave him had his heart picking up several paces.

"You have a beautiful voice."

It took Erik a few seconds to realize that it had been him who blurted the statement out, and he inwardly cursed himself.

"Oh, thank you! So you saw my performance earlier?" she asked brightly, though his comment had obviously startled her.

"Some of it," he acknowledged, and then, because his mouth seemed to be operating at odds with his brain, continued with, "I was glad to see that you were well enough to perform, after your unfortunate altercation with the carpet on the way to the stage."

Christine let out a startled laugh, repeating her earlier gesture of hiding her face in embarrassment. "You know, with all the ballet lessons I've had in my life, you'd think I'd be better at walking in heels."

"I think the fault lies in the design, not the user. They seem terribly impractical."

Christine cast an assessing glance down at the vintage pumps she wore. "If you think these are impractical, you should see what Madame Giry makes us wear with our usual costumes."

"This isn't typical?" Erik determinedly kept his eyes from straying down to Christine's silky pink lingerie.

"We do theme nights every now and then to mix things up a little. You caught us during one of those."

"Ah. Classic Hollywood?" Erik hazarded, his glance darting to the stage where a willowy brunette dressed in tight black shorts, a backless black vest with a plunging neckline, and a bowler hat was performing Mein Herr.

"Hollywood Starlets, technically. I lobbied for Liza," she remarked, watching the performer on stage with an envious glint in her eyes. "But, well," and here she gestured from her blonde curls to her voluptuous frame, "Apparently I'm more of a Marilyn."

Erik took a generous gulp of his drink. "Your performance was lovely, but they were foolish to give the more strenuous number to that woman over you," he heard himself declare. "Her breath support is lacking, she's straining herself on the high notes, and she's clearly more focused on the choreography than the song."

Christine blinked at him, obviously startled. "And what makes you think I wouldn't struggle with these same things, performing a harder piece?"

"Your breathing was strong and controlled, even while you danced. And something tells me that the higher notes would come even more naturally to you than the register you sang in earlier. A soprano, yes? With some classical training?"

"I… Um, yeah, actually. I had lessons all through grade school, and I majored in vocal performance for a bit. But it's been a few years since I did any serious singing. How could you tell?"

Erik could only shrug, regretting his sudden outburst.

"I have some experience in this area, myself."

Christine's gaze roamed curiously over his black mask, leather jacket, t-shirt, faded jeans, and motorcycle boots. "Not the answer I would have guessed," she admitted.

Erik narrowed his eyes, feeling a stab of irritation at her scrutiny. "Do I not give off the air of a refined gentleman and connoisseur of the arts?" he asked caustically.

"Well, I mean, you _did_ just threaten to cut a man's hand off in front of me," she replied. The playful tilt to her mouth soothed some of his defensiveness away.

"What? I can't enjoy dismembering letches _and_ listening to opera?" he quipped, starting slightly when Christine burst into laughter in response.

If being smiled at was a novel experience, conjuring this delighted laughter was absolutely staggering. His was not a lifestyle that lent itself to friendship or socialization, and most people were too unnerved by his mask and his cold demeanor to ever attempt casual conversation with him. He had never before had a woman so relaxed in his presence, and the easy repartee that had just passed between them had him feeling light-headed. Or perhaps that was the vodka he was downing so quickly on an empty stomach.

He was given a few moments to compose himself as Christine once again had to slip away to check on her customers, but this time he found he had no desire to try and make an escape.

"On the subject of dismembering letches," Christine continued as soon as she was able to rejoin him. "I wanted to thank you again for helping me out earlier. It was really sweet of you."

"It was nothing."

"It was definitely something to me."

Erik ducked his head, almost grateful for once for the presence of the mask since it hid his embarrassed flush.

"And not just me, if I'm being honest. Buquet's been a regular at the club for the past month or two, and he gives all of us the creeps. If you ran him off for good with that, you're going to be a hero around here."

At this, Erik's eyes narrowed. "If he's been making all of you uncomfortable, why was he still allowed access to the club?"

Christine shrugged uneasily. "He's one of the Shah's men. Pretty low level, but still. Madame Giry has to be careful about how she treats them."

Erik was startled by her explanation, not having known how much knowledge the club's employees had regarding the less legitimate business dealings of its owner.

"But I somehow doubt he's going to show his face again after how you handled him, even if he hadn't gotten banned."

The smile that she gave him had Erik's heart picking up several paces.

They continued chatting for the rest of the evening, in brief spurts between Christine's work duties, until the last of the performances ended and patrons started to filter out of the club.

Christine strolled over to him with an apologetic smile on her face.

"Last call, I'm afraid. We'll be closing up here in a minute."

Erik nodded in understanding, telling himself that the sting of rejection he was feeling was utterly ridiculous. The bar was closing, for Christ's sake. "Of course. I apologize for having kept you so long." He rose slowly to his feet, digging in his back pocket for his wallet, but Christine waved him away.

"What part of 'free' did you fail to understand, mister? Put that away."

"Well can't I at least leave a tip? My service was exemplary."

"Afraid not. But feel free to tip as much as you like on your next visit."

Erik, who had already taken a step towards the door, halted at this statement. Next visit? Surely she couldn't mean…

"I'm here around this time most weekends, by the way," she added, almost shyly, barely glancing up from the table she was clearing. "In case you wanted to stop by some time."

Erik could only stare blankly at her for several moments. "I'll… keep that in mind," was all he managed by way of response.

Christine shot him one last smile before turning away.

Erik walked out of the club in a bit of a daze, stopping on the sidewalk outside and dropping his head into his hands, letting the quiet of the evening and the cool night air calm his jangled nerves.

Going into Madame Giry's was always a stressful excursion. Being immersed in an atmosphere that was meant to inspire lust and desire just seemed like an exercise in masochistic self-denial for him. But even so, he found the encounters tolerable, even on occasions when he caught momentary glimpses of the performers and wait staff. He had long ago learned not to pay much attention to things that he knew he could never have.

But today, when Christine had _smiled_ at him. Such a simple thing, really, and yet it had been _everything_ to him. Even as she'd gone on to do it countless more times before the evening was through, it had lost none of its potency. And god, her smiles, her laughter, her banter, every bit of it was intoxicating.

He knew, of course, that nothing would ever come of it. Knew every last item on the list of reasons why no woman could ever love him. But none had ever so much as befriended him before, and he knew that some of these feelings clawing at his chest were simply in response to another person seeming to have enjoyed his company tonight.

Taking one last deep, calming breath, he turned to head into the parking lot. He stopped in his tracks as what sounded like an aborted scream pierced the night air. Instantly his hand slipped into his pocket to withdraw a thin, catgut noose that had been coiled there, and he stalked silently around to the alley behind the nightclub.

His keen night vision was able to easily make out the sight of the man he had confronted earlier, Buquet, pinning a woman to the alley wall, one hand pressing a knife to her throat while the other fumbled with the button of her jeans.

Erik had his noose around the man's throat even before he recognized Christine's tousled blonde hair and terrified blue eyes, but the realization of the intended victim had him pulling the rope taut with extra fervor. He watched in grim satisfaction as the man clawed desperately at the cord cutting into him, his tongue lolling uselessly in his mouth and his eyes bulging and red from bursting blood vessels.

"I think that's enough," a shaky voice declared, accompanied by a gentle hand on his shoulder. Erik whipped his head around to find Christine standing right beside him. His hand fell slack in surprise, and the man at the end of the rope collapsed onto the ground, gasping in grateful lungfuls of air.

"Are you sure?" Erik growled. The rage still coursing through him was begging him to keep pulling on the noose until he heard a snap.

"He's not worth going to prison over," Christine declared, her voice unsteady but determined.

"Oh, I'm not so sure…" was Erik's dark reply. But then his eyes moved from the creature lying in the dirt before him to the woman standing beside him, noting the tears in her eyes and the arms wrapped around her abdomen protectively.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice gentling.

She nodded stiffly. "I'll be fine. Just get rid of this asshole so I can go home."

Erik blinked in surprise. "You don't intend to call the authorities?"

"I hardly think the Shah would appreciate it if I reported one of his men, or got his club swarmed with cops."

"Under the circumstances, that seems irrele-"

"Erik, please," she interrupted with a hint of desperation. "I just want him gone."

Erik's startled gaze met hers, and he sensed a fear beyond the lingering fright of her attack lurking there. "I… of course. As you wish." His eyes darted down as he noticed Buquet's attempt to surreptitiously remove the noose from his neck and crawl away. He yanked on the rope in warning, and the man gave a choked gurgle and fell still. "With your permission, though, I think he could use a lesson in manners before he goes."

Christine glanced at the man huddled pathetically at her feet, looking uncertain. Then her hand came up to press against her neck, where his knife had rested moments ago, and her eyes hardened. "I'll go wait in front of the club. Just make sure he's breathing when you're done with him."

"You have my word."


	2. Chapter 2

Hey guys! Thanks so much for those who have taken the time to review so far! It means the world to me.

This chapter is not at all holiday themed, but all the same, Merry Christmas! Enjoy.

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Christine stood in the blood red nimbus of light cast by the club's neon sign, shivering in the crisp night air and wondering how her life had come to this point. Here she was, standing in front of a drug lord's nightclub, where she worked, waiting for some strange masked man to finish beating up her attempted rapist because she was too scared to call the cops on him. This really wasn't the life she had envisioned for herself when she and her father had first moved to DC.

At the sound of footsteps, Christine glanced up to see Erik rounding the corner of the building. He looked perfectly composed, aside from a few dark spots staining his t-shirt that hadn't been there previously. She straightened her posture and tried to appear calm, but he must have noticed her trembling, because the next thing she knew she was swathed in his leather jacket.

She wrapped herself up in it gratefully, then looked up at him questioningly, unsure where to go from there.

"May I escort you home?" Erik asked hesitantly, for all the world as if he expected her to refuse.

His voice slid over her like honey, warming her even more than his jacket had. Not for the first time that night, she found herself marveling at the deep, silky tone. "Please. I don't think I could handle walking back alone tonight." With a slight shudder, she slipped her hands into his jacket's pockets and pulled it tighter against her. "Did you drive here?" she asked hopefully, feeling a set of keys brushing against her left hand. Even with her escort, the idea of walking home through the dark city streets caused her gut to clench in fear. She cursed, not for the first time, that her work hours so often had her going home after the metro lines had closed for the night.

Erik hesitated for a long moment before responding. "I did, but I'd be more than happy to walk there and back. I wasn't expecting to have any passengers, so I took my motorcycle."

"That's okay. I like motorcycles."

She had assumed that his reticence was just concern over her comfort with riding on the back of a stranger's motorbike, and was surprised when he continued to hesitate even after her reassurance. She studied him curiously, noting how his shoulders tightened and his adam's apple bobbed in his throat, before he finally replied in an unsteady voice.

"Right this way, then."

She fell into step with him as he led the way over to a gleaming black Indian motorcycle. A single helmet was hanging from one of the handlebars, and she tried to protest when he offered it to her, but at this his nervous gaze turned implacable.

She donned the helmet and then handed him the keys from his jacket's pocket, waiting on him to seat himself before climbing on behind and wrapping her arms around his abdomen. Distantly, she recognized that she was taking advantage of the excuse to cling to him far more tightly than the situation called for. But right now, with the remembered feel of a knife pressed against her throat and rough hands probing down her body, this man felt like safety. And yes, she did realize how crazy that sounded, considering that he was a masked stranger she had just witnessed almost strangle a man to death without so much as blinking.

Everything about this man, from his imposing height to the strength so carefully leashed within his sinewy frame, screamed that he was dangerous. And then, of course, there was the mask. The hard black leather obscured everything but strange amber eyes, a pale jaw, and thin, colorless lips, and Christine knew enough about the kind of business that was conducted in the club's upper level to be suspicious of anyone who felt the need to hide their identity while there. The effortless way in which he had subdued her attacker only served to confirm these suspicions.

And yet, in spite of this deadly competence, he was also eloquent, polite, and strangely shy, and against her better judgement she felt herself trusting him instinctively. And as she rode, the feel of his hard abdominal muscles trembling beneath her hands reminded her of his chivalry thus far, with his leather jacket protecting her from the elements while he was exposed to the cold fall wind whipping around them. She felt a surge of guilt at this and tried to press closer against him to share some of her body heat, but this almost seemed to make the shivering worse.

She managed to direct him to her apartment complex mostly with shoulder taps and hand gestures, but found herself strangely reluctant to get up once they reached their destination. She was still feeling incredibly shaken from the attack, and the idea of spending the night alone was far from appealing. But she already owed Erik so much gratitude for saving her life, and for unquestioningly adapting to such unconventional methods for handling her attacker. She could hardly expect him to just drop everything and babysit her for the night, as well.

Steeling herself, she slowly unwrapped her arms from his waist and stood up from the bike. She pulled the helmet off and shook her hair out of her eyes, then forced a smile onto her face as she handed it back.

"Thank you, for everything," she declared fervently. "I… I don't want to think about what would have happened if you hadn't shown up."

"Are you going to be alright?" Erik asked, his deep voice oddly hoarse, but tinged with obvious concern. "Do you have a… a roommate or boyfriend waiting inside to keep you company?"

"Nah, it's just me. But I'll be fine."

Erik's bright amber eyes swept over her assessingly, his mouth opening and closing several times before finally managing to get words out. "Would you like me to… That is… I don't have anywhere to be tonight, so if it would make you more comfortable…"

"Are you sure?" Christine replied, trying to restrain the eagerness from her voice. "You've already done so much, and I don't want to put you out anymore."

"You shouldn't have to be alone after what you've been through."

The sincere emotion in his voice filled Christine with warmth, and she was struck briefly with the realization of how long it had been since someone had tried to take care of her.

Erik was running a nervous hand over his black, windswept hair. "Of course, if you would rather call a friend to come over, I would completely understand. I'd be happy to just wait until they-"

"Come on, guest parking is over here," Christine interrupted. "How do you feel about Disney movies? Because this seems like a Disney movie kind of night."

* * *

Erik followed Christine to her apartment on unsteady legs. They climbed the stairs in silence, and he tried to use the opportunity to regain some of his composure. But it seemed impossible with the remembered feel of her arms around him, of gentle hands flat upon his stomach and a warm body pressed against his spine.

His ears were buzzing and his throat felt constricted, but he worked to keep his expression impassive, lest he have to explain himself to Christine. He felt pathetic enough without having to admit to her that tonight was the closest he had come in his entire wretched life to being hugged.

But he knew now was not the time to focus on such things, not when she was clearly still shaken by the events of the night. So much so that she had turned to _him_ , of all people, for comfort. And while he didn't know the first thing about giving or receiving emotional support, he certainly owed it to her to devote his full attention to the attempt.

"Sorry for the mess," Christine remarked as they reached her apartment door, jarring Erik from his thoughts. "Wasn't exactly expecting company."

The apartment, when they entered, seemed old and fairly run-down, with chipping paint and rusting appliances. But Erik had been expecting this, based upon the state of the rest of the building. The small living room was cluttered with books and knick-knacks, but aside from a few dishes on the coffee table and some clothes strewn across an armchair, it seemed well cared for. Erik's eyes were drawn immediately to the corner where a small electric keyboard rested on a stand with several books of sheet music.

"You can go ahead and have a seat. I just have to take care of a few things real quick."

Erik nodded his assent and sank stiffly onto the threadbare couch, which turned out to be just as uncomfortable as it looked. Christine deposited the dishes in the sink of the adjoining kitchen, then gathered the dirty clothes into a bundle and disappeared down a short hallway. She returned a few minutes later with her curls brushed out into soft waves down to her shoulders and her face flushed and damp from scrubbing off her stage makeup. That, paired with the jeans and faded t-shirt she'd changed into before leaving Madame Giry's, left her looking so much more real and approachable than the dazzling coquette she'd appeared in the club. Yet somehow this served to make Erik's current situation seem all the more surreal.

Here before him stood not a paid performer, but a _woman_ , who had invited him into her home for the evening.

And she was still wearing his jacket.

"Can I get you something to drink?" she asked. "I can make some coffee or tea, if you want something to warm you up a little. Or I could just keep plying you with vodka." This last was said with a wink.

"Tea would be nice." He was having a hard enough time controlling his reactions to this woman with all of his wits about him. He immediately regretted his choice, though, upon seeing her fill two mugs with tap water and set them into the microwave to warm them. Something of his horror must have shown on his face, because Christine chuckled and ducked her head on a blush.

"Sorry for my hedonism, but I'm afraid I don't own a teapot. I honestly don't drink the stuff that often, like this at least. I prefer my tea sweet and iced."

Erik felt like a boor. The first time a woman invites him into her home and he immediately manages to insult her. "My apologies. _I'm_ afraid I can be something of a snob about these things. I'm sure the tea will be excellent."

Christine snorted. "That's awfully kind of you to say before trying any. But just to warn you, I buy the cheap stuff."

But when Erik accepted his drink from her, having declined her offer of cream or sugar, he found himself far too captivated by the mischievous glint to her eyes while she watched him take a sip to even register the quality of the beverage.

"So what's the verdict?"

Erik took another careful sip and tried to concentrate on the flavor. "Absolutely dreadful."

Christine let out a startled laugh. "My god, you _are_ a snob." She sat down beside him on the couch and took an exaggerated sip of her own drink.

Erik hid his grin behind the rim of his mug. But the expression slipped from his face as he caught sight of the beginnings of a bruise forming on Christine's cheekbone. His fingers reached out automatically, but he caught himself before they made contact with her skin.

Christine brought her own hand up to cover the mark, her shoulders hunching defensively.

"He hit you."

"It's fine, really. I'm lucky to be getting away with just a bruise."

He pulled his hand away from where it had been hovering over her cheek and clenched it into a fist. "You should have let me dispose of him fully."

" _Erik_ ," she admonished gently. "Don't talk like that. I couldn't put that on you."

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Oh, if only she knew… But he quickly pushed those thoughts out of his head and focused on the situation at hand. "Why didn't you call the authorities, then? There was something aside from just fear of Siavash's reaction that stopped you."

Christine's eyes widened in shock before she could school her expression into a weak smile. "Isn't that enough?" she joked.

Erik continued to stare at her pointedly, and she finally hung her head in defeat.

"I, um, I work for him. The Shah."

Erik blinked in confusion. "I know that he uses the club as a laundering front, but on paper it's a legitimate business that isn't even legally titled in his name, so I fail to see how-"

"I wasn't talking about Madame Giry's. I help out with his… other business."

Erik went very still. "In what capacity?" he asked carefully.

"A drug runner," she admitted tiredly, her face buried in her hands. "He likes to use some of the girls from the club to make deliveries. Claims that 'pretty young women' are way less likely to get searched by the police."

Something inside of him unclenched to learn that it wasn't anything worse, but he felt concern fill him at the idea of this sweet, playful creature involved with Siavash's organization in any capacity.

"Can I ask how you ended up getting involved with him?" Erik asked, careful to keep his voice neutral.

"My dad got sick, a few years ago," Christine began in a thick voice. "He was a violinist, a carefree artist type, and he tended to shift around a lot for work. He always made enough money to take care of us, but he never really worried much about stuff like job security or benefits. We didn't have health insurance when he got diagnosed, and it turns out that chemo is really goddamn expensive."

Erik's heart clenched, as he couldn't help but note her use of past tense when describing the man.

"I was in my sophomore year at college, and my roommate was actually Madame Giry's daughter. I was a vocal major, so she knew I could sing. And when Dad's medical bills started piling up, she got me a job at the club."

Christine paused to take a sip of her cooling tea, but she continued to studiously avoid eye contact with him.

"It helped, but it wasn't enough. And when the Shah caught wind of my situation, he pulled me aside and offered me another option. He fronted the money to pay off all the bills, and I've been working off my debt to him ever since."

"I'm sorry," Erik remarked quietly, unsure what else he could say in this situation. The concept of familial love and sacrifice was utterly foreign to him.

"I hate it," she declared miserably. It seemed that now that she had opened up a little, she wanted to get everything off of her chest. "I mean, not the club. I actually kind of like working there. But even with that I had to lie to Dad about where the money was coming from. At least _that_ money was totally legitimate, but no father wants to hear about his daughter dancing around in lingerie, you know? I knew he was suspicious about it, even though he didn't have the energy to really fight me on it. But I didn't know what else to do. He was angry enough about me dropping out of college so I could take care of him. I can only imagine how he'd have reacted if he found out I was trafficking heroin." This last was said with a bitter laugh. "But I had to do _something_. I couldn't just…" She trailed off, voice thick with unshed tears.

"Your father was very lucky to have someone who was willing to do whatever it took to take care of him." And though it was meant as a comfort, Erik felt an entirely inappropriate stab of envy at the thought of this man who was so beloved by someone that she had lied to him, committed repeated felonies, sacrificed her own hopes and dreams and indebted herself to a criminal, all in the hopes of saving him.

"For all the good it did him," Christine bit back angrily. And then the tears she had been fighting back so valiantly started to fall, and Erik hated himself for having asked the questions that led to this discussion.

"Forgive me. I should never have brought it up." Erik's hand reached out against his will, and, as if his body had been taken over by some foreign spirit, he couldn't seem to stop his thumb from brushing along her cheek to dry the tears that had pooled there.

Christine released a sob in response, and Erik jerked his hand away as if it had been burned. But then, suddenly, she was in his arms, her hands fisted in his shirt and her cries muffled against his chest. Erik remained frozen in shock, unsure of how he was supposed to respond. Slowly, tentatively, he allowed his arms to lower around her, one hand settling hesitantly between her shoulder blades and the other ghosting along her hair.

When her only response to his skittish touch was to burrow herself further into his arms, Erik allowed himself the indulgence of burying his hand into her hair and running his fingers through the strands in an effort to soothe her. And god, had he ever felt anything so wonderfully soft?

Who _was_ this marvelous creature, who somehow looked past his mask and his capacity for violence and saw him as someone to confide in and take comfort from?

He wanted to protest, when her cries quieted and he felt her start to pull away, but he merely let his arms fall away and watched as she sat up and swiped at her face with a self-deprecating laugh.

"God, I'm sorry. I know I led you here with the promise of a quiet movie night, and so far all I've managed to do is overshare all of my issues and blubber all over you…"

"And serve me a truly dreadful cup of tea," Erik quipped.

He was rewarded with a startled laugh and a rueful smile. "Oh yeah. That, too."

He was relieved to see some of the sparkle returning to her eyes, even as his fingers twitched in displeasure at having been removed from the silken skein of her hair. But he was not _quite_ so depraved as to wish her unhappiness simply to be allowed the privilege of comforting her.

"But anyway, I think that's enough about me for the night. Now I'd like to learn a little more about my mysterious rescuer, if that's alright?"

Erik stiffened. No, that was decidedly _not_ alright. Here he had just enjoyed the most remarkable evening in his entire existence, even in spite of the dark circumstances that had led them to this point, and now she wanted to _ruin_ it by learning more about him. His face, his past, his profession… All of it was enough to send any sane person screaming from him, he knew. And yet, how could he deny her questions right now when he had just pried the truth of her own painful past from her?

"What do you wish to know?" he finally managed to force out of his dry throat, looking anywhere but at her.

"How long have you worked for the Shah?"

Erik jerked startled eyes up to meet her calm blue gaze, finding only innocent curiosity and no hint of fear or judgement. "I… How did you-"

"C'mon, Erik, I'm not stupid. Most law-abiding citizens that I know don't carry nooses around in their pockets. Or knives at their back."

Erik's mouth was open to ask how she had possibly noticed the knife, knowing that his shirt was loose enough to cover it even without the added protection of his jacket, but then he realized that she must have felt it when she was riding on his motorcycle. He had been too distracted by how shehad felt against him to give any consideration to what she might be feeling, herself.

"Besides, I'd seen you come into the club before, and you always went straight upstairs and never stuck around to watch any of the performances." And here she looked down, suddenly shy. "It's why I was so surprised when you complimented my singing. I'd never noticed you pay anyone any attention before."

"Well, I'll admit that no other performer had quite exhibited your level of gracefulness, before," he remarked slyly. Christine huffed a laugh and rubbed ruefully at her knees, which she had no doubt bruised in her fall. "But your voice would have caught my attention, regardless. Truly, you have a gift."

She ducked her head with a blush, but her pleasure at the compliment was evident in her eyes. "Thank you. But we somehow seemed to have cycled back to talking about me again, which wasn't the point of this."

Erik clenched his fists together nervously, but seeing as she already knew that he operated within the organization in some capacity, he supposed he couldn't do too much more damage by answering truthfully. "I've worked for Siavash for twenty years. Since I was fifteen," he added, seeing her startled gaze pass over him assessingly, as if trying to judge his age and perform mental calculations.

"That's… so young. How did you-"

"Like you, I was also helped out of a… difficult situation. It's something of a pattern for the man. I've learned that he prefers associates who feel beholden to him in some way, so that he can be more assured of their loyalties. And I suppose it's an effective method, because against my better judgement I've felt indebted to him ever since."

"Can I ask what the situation was?" Christine inquired carefully.

Erik's gaze darkened at the memory, and he absentmindedly rubbed at the scars peppering his wrists and hands. "Please do not think me a hypocrite after I pushed you for answers on your association with the man, but there are some things that are best left in the past."

"Okay," was her gentle reply.

Once again, Erik felt himself in awe of the woman. He had expected further questions, or perhaps a reminder that she had just shared her secrets with him and was owed repayment in kind. But instead he had gotten nothing but quiet acceptance of his request for privacy.

"Can I ask one last thing before we turn the conversation to more cheerful matters?"

Erik nodded stiffly in reply and tried to steel himself for what was to come. Surely now would be the time that she asked about his mask. Honestly he was amazed that they had made it this long without her bringing it up.

But instead she surprised him, yet again. "How do you know Madame Giry? She's usually so frigid with the Shah's men when they show up at the club. But she seemed positively friendly with you. I mean, as friendly as the madame ever really gets, that is."

Erik chuckled, relieved that her final question was an easy one to answer. "I met her through our mutual association with Siavash, and helped her out a number of years ago when the father of her child was refusing to pay her child support."

Christine's eyes widened in surprise. "Wait, Meg's dad was flaking out on child support? There's no way. She's twenty-four now and legally owed nothing from him and he _still_ sends her a check every month! He's religious about it. They're never so much as a day late."

Erik merely cocked his head to the side and smirked.

"Oh…" Christine's eyes went wide. "When you said you helped her out, you weren't talking about loaning her some money, were you?"

"Not precisely."

"What on Earth did you do to the man?" she exclaimed, feigning concern even as her eyes twinkled with wicked amusement.

"We merely had a discussion where I helped him to reassess his priorities in life. It was all very civil."

Christine snorted. "Uh huh. I'll bet." But then her gaze softened as she looked at him. "Do you make it a habit of rescuing damsels in distress, then?"

"God help me if Antoinette ever heard me refer to her as such," Erik muttered, earning a giggle from Christine. "But no," he continued, his voice darkening. "I generally find myself cast as the villain of the story, not the white knight."

"I don't believe that. An antihero, maybe, but I refuse to accept you as a true villain. Not after you saved me tonight."

Erik shifted uncomfortably under her regard. He knew that he deserved none of the kindness that she had gifted him with that night. And for one brief flash of a moment, he found himself filled with the sudden desire to confess every last one of his multitude of sins to her, just so that she would stop looking at him like that.

But the moment passed quickly, and in the end he was far too selfish to do such a thing, so he instead found himself deflecting.

"You know, you hardly seem a helpless damsel, yourself. Don't think I missed where you were aiming that stiletto of yours before I decided to intervene, back in the club. In retrospect perhaps I should have held off and just watched the show."

"And let me ruin a perfectly good pair of shoes?" she retorted with mock affront. "Trust me, I was more than happy to play the damsel and let my dark knight swoop in tonight."

Erik's heart picked up several paces at the possessive term.

"But, I can see by how shifty you're getting that you're not one for heartfelt declarations of gratitude, so I say enough of this serious stuff. I believe I promised you Disney movies?"

"Yes, I believe you did."

"Right. Any preference? I own pretty much all of the classics." She stood up and moved to grab a CD case from a bookshelf, flipping through it to reveal her collection of DVDs.

"I can't say that I've ever seen one before, to be honest, so I'll defer to your judgement."

Christine dropped the case into her lap and looked up at him in horror. "I'm sorry, _what_? Never? You've never seen a Disney movie?"

Erik merely spread his hands in front of himself helplessly.

"Jesus, do you live in a cave or something? Oh, we have so much catching up to do!"

She grabbed a disc seemingly at random, popping it into the player and bouncing back to the couch with obvious excitement.

Erik watched the movie (Hercules, apparently, though its plot bore very little resemblance to what he knew of Greek mythology) in silence, taking more enjoyment from Christine's tendency to sing along with all of the songs than with the movie itself. Her voice was truly lovely. When Hercules finished, Christine replaced it with Beauty and the Beast, but they hadn't made it very far into the second film when the events of the night finally seemed to catch up with her.

Erik had glanced over with the intent of inquiring as to whether or not Stockholm Syndrome was a common theme in children's movies, only to find Christine soundly asleep.

She somehow managed to look quite fetching, even with her jaw hanging slack and a thin line of drool escaping onto the throw pillow she was cuddled against. And Erik felt himself more affected than he'd care to admit by the way her feet had burrowed instinctively between his back and the couch cushions in a quest for warmth.

Carefully, so as not to jostle his companion, he leaned over to grasp the fleece blanket that was folded across the back of the couch and draped it over her. But he then found himself at a total loss for what to do next. She had invited him in to keep her company following her ordeal, but now that she was asleep, was he expected to remain? Would she find it intrusive if he stayed while she was unconscious? Or would she want him to stay and assure her safety throughout the night?

For lack of a better idea, he decided to at least finish the film she had selected for him, and settled back on the couch to watch. But his thoughts proved too noisy to allow him to focus for long. He kept tracing back through the events of the day to try and figure out how he had ended up _here_ , having a movie night in a strange woman's apartment with his companion sleeping peacefully on the sofa beside him. The circumstances leading up to this moment were sufficiently dark and violent for Erik to make sense of, but Christine's reactions to him, and this taste of normalcy he was now experiencing as a result, were utterly beyond the pale of comprehension.

He had made her _laugh_. They had shared jokes and smiles, and she had trusted him enough to confide in him, and had sought him out for comfort when the memories had overwhelmed her. He had held her in his arms and she had not shrunk back in disgust.

Was this just a single, fluke occurrence? Or could he dare to hope that this was the start of some sort of friendship? She _had_ invited him to stop by the club and see her again, even before he'd stepped in to help her in the alley.

Could he truly have this? After decades of being feared and hated and used, had he finally found someone who actually enjoyed spending time in his presence, and who wanted nothing more from him than his companionship?

If she got to know him well enough and grew to care for him before seeing behind his mask, could he dare hope…

Erik's thoughts crashed to a halt at the sight of the cartoon Beast on the television transforming into a handsome prince after being gifted with Belle's kiss.

Ah, of course. Even a film meant to tout the importance of inner beauty must have the hideous monster transform before he can actually be with the girl.

But Erik knew that, for him, there was no handsome façade waiting to be revealed, no curse to be broken with true love's kiss. Just a fluke of genetics and pregnancy complications that had plagued his existence for as long as he could remember. He was born a monster, and he would die a monster. And it was foolish to even contemplate someone being able to accept that, and to love him in spite of it. His mother certainly hadn't.

But such thoughts were greedy, anyway. He didn't need Christine's love, her adoration and devotion. He had only just met her that evening, after all. No, all he wanted from her was friendship. And surely that was not such a ridiculous thing to expect.

So long as he could shield her from all the worst parts of himself, he could have this. He could be happy.


	3. Chapter 3

Another huge thanks to everyone who took the time to leave a review! It means the world to me. Happy New Year, and I hope y'all enjoy!

* * *

Christine awoke feeling confused and disoriented, and it took her a few moments to recognize the scratchy fabric beneath her cheek as belonging to her couch's upholstery, not her cotton bedsheets. Memories from the previous night flooded her, and she sat up immediately to survey her apartment. She was oddly disappointed to see no sign of her mysterious, masked protector, but the sight of the blanket that had been tucked around her at some point in the night brought a warm feeling to her chest.

Stretching languidly, she winced slightly at the ache that awoke in her shoulder blades, then winced even harder at the realization of how she must have earned such bruises. Buquet had slammed her rather forcefully against the alley wall during his assault, among other things. Her hand raised to probe delicately at the tender bruise on her cheekbone, and she cursed herself for the slight tremble to her motions. A small, dark, scared part of her regretted having asked Erik to spare the man's life, as she was now faced with the prospect of leaving the safety of her apartment while knowing that her attacker still walked the streets. That is, if he was even able to walk after Erik was through with him. She was shocked at the rush of savage satisfaction that filled her at the thought.

Shaking her head against such dark thoughts, she stood from the couch and shuffled into the kitchen to make coffee. She stopped at the sight of a neatly wrapped package sitting on her kitchen counter, a note scrawled in an unfamiliar, spidery hand resting atop it.

 _Should the damsel find herself without a loyal knight nearby._

The note was unsigned, but she had no question as to its author. Eagerly, she tore away the wrapping and opened the box, revealing, of all things, a small canister of pepper spray designed to attach to one's keyring, a petite but wickedly sharp pocket knife, and a taser.

She let out a startled bark of laughter. She wasn't sure what she had been expecting, really; perhaps something more traditionally thought of for cheering up and comforting a woman? Flowers and chocolate? But Erik's less conventional gifts were exactly what she needed, she realized. Not just the items themselves, but the implicit message attached that she would be able to defend herself should the need ever arise again.

Hugging the jacket she had forgotten to return to him last night tighter around herself and fighting against the entirely uncalled for sting of tears in her eyes, she resumed her trajectory to the coffee maker, only to halt once again at the sight of yet another package and note resting beside the machine.

 _Should the damsel find herself_ _with_ _a loyal knight nearby._

Cocking an eyebrow in confusion, Christine opened this package to reveal a ceramic tea kettle (cornflower blue, to match the décor in the rest of her kitchen) and an assortment of gourmet teas. At this, she laughed in earnest.

He was a cheeky son of a bitch, her dark knight. He was also proving to be a fascinating enigma. With her coffee brewing, Christine did a quick inspection of her apartment, finding all of the doors and windows to be securely locked. He had somehow managed to sneak out, go shopping, break in to deposit the gifts, and lock up after himself, all while she slept on in peaceful ignorance. She wasn't sure whether to be more impressed with him or concerned with her own oblivion.

She also couldn't help but wonder why he'd snuck out during the night, a part of her feeling childishly hurt by his abandonment even as she chided herself for being so ridiculous. The man was a total stranger; she had absolutely no claim to him, and he had already gone so far out of his way to help and comfort her.

Besides, her more rational side reminded her that by all rights she should avoid associating with him further, anyway. She had always tried to distance herself as much as possible from the Shah's criminal operations, aside from what was necessary to fulfill her obligations to him. Befriending someone who had worked for the man for twenty years only threatened to entangle her even more. Not to mention the fact that she hadn't even bothered to ask what, exactly, his role within the organization was. She honestly wasn't certain that she even wanted to know.

But even with these words of caution whispering through her head, she couldn't help the thrill of anticipation she felt at the thought of seeing Erik again. He was like no one she had ever met before, with his flawless voice and his effortless grace and the air of danger and violence that clung to him like shadows. He had always looked so imposing, whenever she'd spotted him at the club in the past. Always tense, never smiling, not sparing a moment's notice for anyone but the Shah and his men. Was it wrong of her to feel almost special for having been gifted with his attention and his gentler side? His quiet wit, thoughtful gestures, and careful smiles?

A knock at her door drew Christine away from her thoughts. Grinning, she rushed over to her peephole, expecting to see to see a black leather mask staring back at her. She deflated somewhat at the sight of a stunning woman with olive skin, dark hair, and flashing green eyes. Oh, right. It was Sunday.

She opened the door and was greeted by a box of bagels being thrust into her hands.

"It's raining, so I figure we can just stay in and do yoga or something, instead of going for a run."

"Works for me." Christine set the box on the counter and started digging in her cabinet for plates, while Meg went over to the coffee maker to pour herself a cup.

"Are you okay, by the way? I heard about what happened at the club."

Christine paled, before realizing she must have been referring to the minor incident inside that had preceded her attack.

"Everyone was talking about how that creepy masked guy-"

"Erik," Christine corrected, more sharply than she'd intended to.

Meg cast her an assessing glance but carried on easily. "…how Erik stepped in and threatened to cut Buquet's hands off if he kept touching you. I gotta say, the guy always kind of freaked me out before, but after that I think I might have the hots for him."

 _Join the club_ , Christine thought to herself wryly.

"Hey, cute teapot!" Meg remarked, glancing down and noticing the package sitting beside the coffee maker. Her brow wrinkled in curiosity as she spied Erik's note. "Damsels and knights? What's that about?" When Christine blushed in response, her eyes narrowed in interest, like a hawk spotting prey. "Better question, whose jacket is that?"

"Erik's," Christine admitted, rubbing at the cuffs. "He gave me a ride home last night."

"Well, looks like I'm not the only one with a crush!" She leaned forward, eager for gossip, but the smile slid off her face when she finally spied Christine's bruise. In a sharp voice, she remarked, "No one said anything about Buquet hitting you."

Christine drew in a shaky breath, but she knew that she wasn't going to be able to avoid telling her best friend about this.

"He didn't, in the club. But when I left work he was waiting for me."

Meg's eyes widened in shock, and she quickly led Christine to the living room, seating both of them on the couch. "What happened?"

"He, um… He punched me and shoved me up against the wall, and next thing I knew he had a knife at my throat and was trying to get my pants off."

Meg brought a hand up to cover her mouth with a horrified gasp.

"And then Erik showed up out of nowhere and pulled him off me." Christine decided to omit the details of Erik's retaliation.

"Okay, forget having a crush. I think I'm in love."

Christine laughed shakily. "And then he brought me home and watched movies with me all night to keep me company."

"And the teapot?" Meg asked with a soft, knowing grin.

"Apparently off-brand tea steeped in microwaved water isn't suitable for his refined palate."

Meg giggled, but her expression quickly sobered. "Are you alright, Chris?"

Christine smiled and squeezed her friend's shoulders. "I'm fine. I promise. I was pretty freaked out last night, but Erik got there before anything horrible could happen to me, and I feel a lot better today. Also I am now the proud owner of pepperspray, a knife, and a taser."

Meg laughed. "Also courtesy of Erik?"

"Yeah, though for the life of me I don't know where he managed to get ahold of them at like five in the morning."

"It adds to his mystery. But what happened to Buquet? Are you going to have to testify against him or something?"

Christine shifted uncomfortably, unable to meet Meg's eyes.

"Chris… You did call the cops, right?"

"I couldn't! He works for the Shah! If I had him arrested, he could try to inform on him to bargain with the cops. Or tell them about me, if he knows anything."

"He can't just go free, after what he did to you! What if he tries it again, or attacks some other girl?"

Christine flinched at the reminder that her inability to involve the authorities might have left that monster free to go after someone else. "I don't know, Meg. I feel horrible. But I couldn't risk having the cops poking around at the club, or questioning Buquet. Nevermind them finding out about my drug running. If the Shah found out I got him involved in police business in any way, Buquet would be the least of my worries, and you know it."

Meg's mouth tightened in disapproval, but she knew the man well enough to see the truth in her statement. "Tell me Erik at least roughed him up good before he let him go."

Christine quirked her lips and ducked her head. "I didn't see what happened, but he did ask me to give him a few minutes alone with the creep before he took me home."

" _Good_ ," Meg declared savagely. And then, suddenly, she lunged forward and crushed Christine to her in an embrace. "I'm so glad you're okay."

Christine hugged her back, then pulled back and smiled weakly at her. "So, yoga, you said? Let me go change into workout clothes and we can get started."

"Sure, so long as you can stand to be parted from Erik's jacket for that long."

An extended middle finger as Christine left the room was the only response she received.

* * *

"Care to explain to me why one of my men was found beaten to a pulp behind the dumpsters this morning?" Siavash's voice was deceptively pleasant as it wafted across the club's main room, but his eyes were hard.

Erik strode casually into the room, the front door closing slowly behind him and blocking out the bright midday sun that had cast him in silhouette. It was a Sunday afternoon, and the only other people in Madame Giry's were a few of the Shah's men, and the madame herself, who was pointedly ignoring them while she took inventory and restocked the bar. He couldn't help but feel a sting of disappointment that he'd been summoned on a day when there was no chance of running into Christine.

"What makes you think I had anything to do with it?" Erik asked with apparent unconcern, sitting down across the table from Siavash and stretching his long legs out before him.

"Erik. I know about your run-in with Buquet last night. Antoinette saw fit to barge into our poker game and berate me for the behavior of my associates." Here, he cast a sidelong glance to Madame Giry, who gave no reaction aside from a slight tightening of her lips.

"But feeling up one of the showgirls doesn't quite seem like a crime worthy of three broken ribs."

"It does if he did so without her consent."

Siavash's façade of calm started to crack around the edges, his eyes narrowing angrily. "The man is going to be useless to me for months. Practically every bone in his hand has been crushed."

"Well, considering the original promise was to remove it entirely, should he not learn from his mistakes, I'd say he should consider himself lucky," Erik hissed.

Siavash's expression smoothed to one of assessment. "Ah. Now we come to it. Am I to assume, then, that there was a repeat offense?"

"The bastard was waiting with a knife to try and force himself on Ch—on one of the performers," Erik seethed. "I saw them and intervened."

A slight noise from the bar drew Erik's attention to Madame Giry, who had raised a hand to her mouth as if to stifle a gasp.

"I see. That is an entirely different matter, then." Siavash stroked his goatee thoughtfully. "Is Miss Daaé okay?"

Erik worked to school the surprise from his features. Apparently everyone had managed to deduce the identity of Buquet's intended victim, which wasn't terribly surprising. But he hadn't had the opportunity to learn her surname the previous night, and he found himself treasuring the information. _Christine Daaé._

"She was somewhat shaken, but otherwise unharmed. I discovered them before he managed to inflict much damage."

"Hm. Good. Christine is a practical girl, and she knows better than to involve the authorities in such a matter. But had he attacked some other woman, who wasn't under my employ… I can't afford to have my associates behaving so recklessly and drawing attention to themselves."

"Yes, god forbid their assault of an innocent woman should cause you any inconvenience," Erik muttered darkly.

Siavash merely cocked an eyebrow in response. "I will admit to being somewhat surprised that Buquet continues to draw breath. You're not usually so forgiving of people who have irked you."

Erik fought back the urge to shift guiltily in his seat. "Christine requested that I spare him, and I felt that she'd endured enough trauma that night."

"I see…" He gave Erik a surprised, assessing glance. "Well, in that case, I suppose I'll comply with her wishes and keep him around, or what's left of him, anyway, as a reminder to my people of what happens when you make foolish decisions. So in that regard I thank you for the assistance. However," and here his voice turned dark. "Do not take this as an invitation to freely dispense discipline to my employees as you see fit. I will not be so understanding in the future."

Erik inclined his head in a mocking bow. "Of course, oh great Shahanshah. Now then, if that's all…" He made as if to rise from his seat, but Siavash gestured him back down with an irritated wave of his hand.

"Not quite. There's a matter of business that you need to attend to."

Erik leaned back in his seat and inclined his head to silently indicate his attention.

"Evidently there's been something of a coup d'état amongst our smuggling contacts up in Toronto, and I need you to assist in the negotiations with their new management."

"Negotiations sound rather like something requiring people skills and diplomacy. Am I truly your first choice for such a thing?" Erik asked dryly.

"Please. I know better than that. No, you're being sent along to assist in persuading any particularly stubborn parties."

"To intimidate them into submission, you mean."

Siavash smirked. "Well, your reputation does precede you, Angel of Death."

Erik's hands clenched into fists below the table at the hated moniker. "Siavash, you know how I feel about working jobs with other people. Most of your men can't stand me, and I'm happy to report that the feeling is entirely mutual."

"Oh, come now, Erik, what kind of boss do you take me for? I am well aware of your feelings in regards to my other associates. It'll just be you and Nadir."

"Ah. Very well."

"Excellent. Then it's settled. The two of you will head to Toronto Thursday morning. I expect the negotiations will take a few days, so pack accordingly."

Erik nodded his assent and rose to leave. He felt a sinking in his gut at the thought of how long he had to wait before seeing Christine again. Could he truly go that long without knowing whether their camaraderie had just been a one-time thing born of circumstance, or whether she had any interest in continuing their association into the future? He was already almost sick with the anxiety of it.

He had a brief moment of sympathy for the thought of Nadir being stuck around him for the next few days, because something told him he was going to be miserable company.

* * *

Erik pulled into Nadir's driveway before the sun had fully risen on Thursday morning. He honked his horn once then settled down to wait, smirking at the sight of the zombie-like creature that eventually shuffled towards his car with suitcase in tow.

"I hate you," Nadir proclaimed, before he'd even finish buckling his seatbelt. He shot a bleary glare to his left, then spluttered on the coffee he'd just taken a sip of and did a double take.

Erik sighed and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. He knew that the man was finally registering the bland, unremarkable features of an unfamiliar face looking back at him, with only Erik's dark hair and amber eyes present to make himself recognizable.

"I hate it when you wear that thing," Nadir muttered once he had recovered from inhaling his drink.

"Yes, well, I'm not overly fond of it, myself," Erik snapped. "But I do so hate getting mistaken for an armed robber whenever I stop for gas."

The prosthetic was stifling and uncomfortable, and there was an element of uncanny valley that tended to unsettle people if they scrutinized him too closely, but he found it a necessary evil when taking long trips.

"Yes, of course. I'm sorry." The sympathy and concern that flooded Nadir's gaze made Erik go rigid in his seat, lest he squirm uncomfortably under its weight. They were off to a brilliant start on this road trip, and they hadn't even made it out of DC yet.

When Erik failed to respond, Nadir settled back in his seat and reached out to turn the stereo up slightly.

"What are we listening to?"

"Paganini's third violin concerto, currently."

"Ah. You know, even after all these years, I still sometimes forget that you like this sort of thing. It's not what I would have expected from you, if I'm being honest."

Erik's lips twitched into a secretive smile, as if enjoying a private joke. "So people keep saying."

Nadir quirked an eyebrow and studied him, clearly surprised by his response.

But rather than elaborating, Erik reached down to grab his phone from the console and pressed a few buttons until an aggressive heavy metal song cut on, turning to Nadir with a challenging look. "There. Is this more in keeping with what a man such as myself should be listening to?"

Nadir hesitated, not quite sure how to respond to what seemed very much like a loaded question. But once the vocals for the song kicked in, he burst into surprised laughter. "Even your choice of angry rock music has a classically trained soprano as the vocalist."

Erik gave him a slightly begrudging smirk in response. "I find that classical influences actually lend themselves quite well to this particular genre."

Nadir just laughed and shook his head.

Nearly an hour passed in companionable silence before either man ventured to speak again.

"I heard about what happened with Buquet," Nadir proclaimed, apropos of nothing.

Erik glanced askance at him. "What of it?"

"Nothing in particular. I suppose I just wanted to congratulate you on a job well done. The man is utterly vile, and somebody needed to teach him his place before he inflicted too much damage. Speaking of, is the girl alright?"

"She's fine," Erik replied in an uncharacteristically gentle voice. "Buquet had only just found her when I intervened. She was upset but unhurt, and proved remarkably pragmatic and resilient. By the end of the night she seemed perfectly cheerful."

"So you stayed with her, then?" Nadir asked, his voice casual but his eyes alight with that inquisitive gleam that spoke to what once must have made him such a skilled detective.

Erik couldn't help the slightly awed smile that broke out over his face. "Yes. I gave her a ride home, and she asked me to keep her company for the night. We… we drank tea and watched movies."

Nadir's jade green eyes went slightly misty at the almost disbelieving way that Erik spoke of such mundane activities, but Erik was distracted by his reminiscences and failed to notice.

"Do you have plans to see her again?" Nadir asked hopefully.

"Y—yes. She asked me to come visit her at the club. Or… at least… I believe she did."

Nadir cocked an inquisitive eyebrow at the hesitant response, and Erik turned to him, suddenly desperate.

"She told me when she'd be at the club most weekends, 'in case I wanted to stop by some time.' Does that mean… Could she possibly…?"

Nadir grinned. "Erik, relax. I can't think of a reason why she'd say that to you if she weren't hoping you'd drop by and see her again."

Erik's hands spasmed on the steering wheel.

"Just… promise you'll be careful, old friend," Nadir advised hesitantly. "I know that I'm the only person you tend to tolerate in your life, so relationships in general are fairly unchartered territory for you. And Christine is a lovely girl. Just promise me you'll take things slow and not get too attached too quickly."

"Of course," Erik replied automatically. But he was only halfway listening, his mind already wandering with imagined scenarios of his and Christine's next meeting.


	4. Chapter 4

Ah! All of the reviews I've gotten for this story so far are super encouraging! Thanks so much for the support, guys!

Also, in response to a question I got from a reader, the story IS set in Washington, DC, and "the Shah" is just a nickname that a local organized crime leader has earned. Because most of my knowledge of organized crime comes from watching James Bond movies, where characters like "Jaws" exist, so I assume all criminals have nifty nicknames. There's no actual political associations with the title.

I did some research into DC's crime and drug culture for this (which hopefully didn't get my google account flagged) and discovered that, while a majority of the heroin smuggled into the US comes from Mexico, a portion also gets smuggled in from an area known as the "Golden Crescent", which includes Afghanistan, Pakistan, and Iran. So my Shah is an Iranian ex-pat who works with his connections from back home to smuggle and traffic significant amounts of heroin into the city. As well as dabbling in other assorted criminal enterprises. I appreciate the question and I'm happy to answer any others that people have!

A quick sidenote: for most of the dance routines mentioned whenever Erik's at the burlesque club, I've found some youtube videos with choreography that serve as my inspiration. I would post them on here, but FF doesn't like links. So if anyone wants me to share those with them, just let me known in a review or a PM and I'll figure out a way to pass them along!

* * *

Surely it said something about Erik's character that he had faced off with a gang of drug smugglers without so much as blinking, but the prospect of entering a nightclub was enough to have his heart pounding out of his chest. Yet he couldn't seem to help the fear that gripped him as he entered Madame Giry's. With every step that he took further into the club, he became more and more convinced that he must have misinterpreted the events of two weeks ago. Surely Christine's camaraderie had just been the product of extreme circumstances that night, of her seeking comfort from the nearest available person, regardless of who it was. When she saw him tonight, she would no doubt smile politely and make quick excuses for why she had to be anywhere but where he was…

The insidious voice whispering doubts in his ear wasn't enough to keep his eyes from scoping out the club in search of her, and he felt a curious rush of disappointment and relief when his search proved fruitless. He was desperately anxious to see her again, and yet… If she wasn't here to reject him, then at least he could go on another day deluding himself into thinking that she could possibly consider him a friend.

On leaden feet, he walked up the stairs and towards the balcony where Siavash was currently holding court in a circular booth, a woman in a slinky silver cocktail dress plastered to his side and a bevy of cigar-smoking henchmen arrayed around him. He looked like a bad gangster movie stereotype, and Erik had to resist the urge to roll his eyes.

"Ah, there you are," Siavash proclaimed once he spied Erik's approach. "Nadir tells me the negotiations went well?"

"They were amenable to our terms," Erik replied evenly. He crossed his arms and looked at Siavash expectantly.

"Oh, alright. I got all the details I needed from Nadir, thankfully, so I won't try to force you into any conversation. It's like pulling teeth... Here." He casually slipped Erik a small envelope under the table. Erik pocketed it and turned to leave, but froze momentarily at the Shah's parting comment, delivered in a sly voice. "You might want to stick around for a bit. Something tells me you'll enjoy this next routine."

Erik forced himself to walk away without turning or giving any indication that the words had affected him. But he only got as far as the bar before his legs stopped following his commands to exit the building. He desperately didn't want to give Siavash the satisfaction of seeing his teasing hit home. And yet, if he really was implying that _she_ was there…

And then it was too late. The muscular, shirtless man on the stage finished his rendition of _Bad Things_ , and Christine and a stunning, dark-haired woman he recognized as Madame Giry's daughter took his place. They were both dressed in cropped black halter tops, tight leather shorts, fishnet stockings, and thigh-high stiletto boots with impossibly tall heels. Erik had a brief moment of sympathy for what Christine had meant by truly impractical footwear, but then the music started up and he lost all capacity for higher thought.

The song, _Teeth_ by Lady Gaga, was a popular radio hit that Erik generally found less irksome than most. It was aggressive in its sexuality, and the choreography was written to match, all hard kicks and sharp thrusts interspersed by long, languid rolls of the body, with Meg and Christine taking turns between singing lead and doing the more strenuous dance moves. And _Christ_ how was it possible that this was the same girl who had sung so sweetly and coyly the last time he saw her? There was nothing coy about this raw seduction, and Erik felt _want_ flow through him with a strength that was almost physically painful, as he hadn't experienced since his first years of puberty, before he had taught himself to ignore the pointless cravings.

Blue eyes locked unexpectedly with his, and all the air fled from his lungs. His heart pounded in his chest, almost in rhythm with the song, waiting for her to rip her gaze away and studiously avoid him for the rest of the number. But then she _smiled_. The grin was playful and wicked and perfectly in character with the routine, but it was the glow of genuine excitement that lit up her eyes that had his pulse picking up impossibly faster.

For the rest of the performance, her gaze kept flicking back to his, and oh, _oh_ , this feeling consuming him was surely torture of the most exquisite kind. The song finally ended, and Erik walked unsteadily to the same table Christine had seated him at during their previous encounter. He placed his head in his hands and focused on composing himself, and had nearly gotten his heartrate under control when a playful voice sent it spiking again.

"Hey there, stranger."

He jerked his head up to spy Christine standing in front of him with her hands cocked on her hips.

"I was starting to wonder when I was gonna see you again."

 _She_ had been wondering about _him_? Erik cleared his throat nervously. "I apologize," he declared, then winced at himself. What exactly was he apologizing for? Saying she'd wondered when she'd see him again wasn't an admission that she had actually missed him in his absence. "I was called away on business this past week."

"Oh yeah? Anywhere fun?"

"Toronto." And then, with a tentative hint of a smirk, "It was very exotic."

Christine chuckled. And oh, look, her laughter hadn't lost any of its potency in setting his blood racing.

"And how is Canada this time of year?" she teased.

"Cold."

She snorted in amusement, even as she rolled her eyes at him. "Well it's nice to have you back, traveler. Can I fetch you a drink?"

"Only if I'm allowed to pay for it, this time."

"What a strange man you are."

Erik stiffened instinctively at the descriptor. _Freak, monster, sideshow_ …. The familiar slurs played through his head on repeat, reminding him of all the times people had remarked upon what an oddity he was in the past. Although… None of them had ever grinned at him like that when they did so.

Christine slipped away before she could notice his reaction, and Erik forced himself to relax again. It was surprisingly easy to do, when he allowed himself to consider the simple fact that, somehow, impossibly, Christine seemed genuinely happy to see him again. He waited impatiently while she took care of her other tables, then sat up straight and tugged nervously at the cuffs of his blazer when she approached.

Christine's eyes followed his movements, and she smiled as she set a vodka tonic in front of him. "You know, I was kind of partial to the rockstar look you had going for you last time, but I have to admit that you clean up nice."

Erik ran a hand self-consciously down the charcoal dress shirt he had paired with a fitted black suit. "The last time I was here, I hadn't intended to hang around. This time I thought I might as well try to follow the dress code. I stick out enough as it is," he finished in a bitter undertone.

Christine's gaze strayed to his mask curiously, and Erik cursed himself for drawing attention to it. But to his relief she refrained from commenting. "How long are you planning on sticking around tonight?" she asked, instead. "There's a group number coming up in a bit that you're not gonna want to miss. You're a big Pussycat Dolls fan, right?" Her eyes danced with mischief.

"My favorite band," he deadpanned.

"I knew it."

Erik repressed a smile. "In truth, though, I have nothing pressing that needs attending to tonight. So I'd be more than happy to stick around for the musical genius of these Pussycat Dolls." A beat passed where his stomach seemed to leap into his throat, but he forced himself to continue with apparent nonchalance. "I could even wait around and give you a ride home, if you'd like. The weather is rather miserable tonight, and I don't envy the thought of you having to walk home in it."

Christine's startled expression slowly morphed into a cautiously pleased one. "Are you sure you wouldn't mind? It's sweet of you to offer, but I promise I'm fine to get myself home safely. I'm pretty well-armed now, thanks to some anonymous benefactor," she added with a wink.

"It would be no trouble," Erik countered, hoping his voice came out evenly.

"Well then sure! I'd happily accept a ride. You can even stop in for a bit and try out my fancy new tea, if you'd like. Brewed in a proper pot and everything."

Erik sent up a silent prayer of thanks to the universe for whatever cosmic fluke had tricked this enchanting woman into actually seeking out his company. But while he wanted nothing more than to fall at her feet in gratitude, all he allowed himself was a smirk and a wry response. "What if I've become partial to your microwave brew?"

"Too bad, buddy. You've successfully shown me the error of my ways, and no way am I going back now."

"Ah, well, I suppose I have no one to blame but myself, then. Proper tea, it is."

Christine smiled at his roundabout acceptance of her invitation. "Alright, I'm off to make the rounds again and then I have to go change for the group routine. Better nurse that drink of yours while I'm gone. Now that I know you're my DD, you won't be getting too many refills."

"Duly noted, madame."

Erik sipped his drink and watched her check on her other tables, silently wondering to himself if this was what happiness felt like.

* * *

Christine felt the weight of Erik's gaze upon her for the remainder of her shift, and tried very hard to convince herself that she wasn't pleased by the attention. She couldn't quite stop herself from a bit of extra strutting and posturing as she went about her work, however.

When her shift was finally up, she had Erik wait out back by the employee's entrance while she went to change into her normal clothes. He had been pacing the alley, but froze in his tracks with a deer-in-headlights expression as he caught sight of her. Christine blushed furiously and reached up to tug at the hem of the leather jacket she was wearing.

"I, um, I didn't want to risk not having it if you showed up here again, but I got tired of lugging it around, so I kind of just started wearing it to work instead," she lied. She fervently hoped that he wouldn't think to question the availability of personal storage at an establishment that required its employees to change clothes during their shift. She reached up to pull the jacket off, but Erik's hands landed on her shoulders, with surprising gentleness considering the speed with which they'd shot out, to stop her.

"Keep it," he insisted. "It… suits you." There was an intensity to his gaze that caused the slightest of shivers down Christine's spine.

She smiled gratefully and shoved her hands in the pockets to protect them from the cold, misting rain. "I'm not gonna lie, I have grown kind of attached to the thing. I'm not sure that I pull off the badass look quite as well as you, but it's super warm and comfy." But then she noted the thin blazer of his suit that seemed to serve as his only protection from the elements. "But don't you need it back?"

"Nonsense. I have plenty of other coats."

"And where are they tonight?" she teased, falling into step beside him as he headed towards the parking lot.

"At home, until they're needed. I don't get cold terribly easily, and I wasn't planning to be outside long enough to justify one." As he said this, he removed a key fob from his pockets and unlocked the doors of a sleek, black Aston Martin.

"What, no motorcycle tonight?" Christine asked, forcing her voice to remain casual despite her (completely ridiculous) twinge of disappointment.

The look Erik gave her was equal parts startled and scrutinizing. "I… Had thought you might appreciate a windshield and heater, given the weather." The statement was almost a question, said in a mixture of defense, apology, and… hope?

Christine just gave him an enigmatic smile, unwilling to confirm one way or the other, and slid into the passenger seat. She giggled to herself at his slightly lost expression before he moved to take his spot on the driver's side.

"So what have you been up to since I saw you last?" she asked conversationally, once Erik had started the car up.

"Nothing much, beyond the romantic Canadian getaway with my boyfriend."

Christine nearly choked in surprise. She searched Erik's face for any signs of humor, but found only calm concentration as he navigated through traffic. She suddenly felt incredibly foolish (and more than a little disappointed) at having read so much into all of his attention and kind gestures. After all, it was possible for a man to decide to help and befriend her without angling for anything in return. When had she gotten so jaded, and arrogant, as to assume otherwise?

"I, uh, I thought you said you were in Toronto on business."

Erik shot her a sidelong glance, and his mouth twitched up at the corners. "I was. Nadir just decided to get creative with our alibis when we were going through customs. Did you know that I'm also an architect?"

The amount of relief she felt was startling.

"Oh yeah? You'll have to show me some of your designs, sometime." She paused for a moment, looking contemplative. "Nadir… I've seen him around the club before, right? Middle aged, a little shorter than you, scar on his cheek?"

"That's the one."

"Hey, you could do a lot worse for yourself," she joked.

Erik chuckled. "And you, Miss Daaé?" he ventured, after a moment. "How have you kept yourself occupied these past two weeks?"

"Oh, you know. Stripping. Drug trafficking. The usual."

Now it was Erik's turn to choke.

Christine smirked, pleased with herself for having gotten him back. "You look scandalized, sir! Do you disapprove?"

"I… No, of course! I just… Um…"

"Relax, Erik. I'm just screwing with you."

Erik let out a sigh of relief and shot her a playful scowl. "Cruel woman."

"Just paying you back in kind."

They arrived at Christine's apartment within a matter of minutes. Erik parked in the guest parking area she had directed him to last time, but he left the car idling. He glanced at her hesitantly, and it took her several seconds to realize that he was waiting for her to confirm her invitation to come in.

"Well c'mon then! It's time for you to critique my tea-brewing skills again."

Erik's eyes lit up, looking momentarily more yellow than amber, and he quickly uncranked the car and followed her up to her apartment.

* * *

"Give me just a minute to de-glamor," Christine called over her shoulder, heading down the hallway to her bedroom.

Erik strolled into the kitchen to wait, pleased to see the kettle he'd purchased her sitting on the back burner of the stove. He had agonized over whether or not to give it to her, that night. The self-defense items had been an easy choice, since he was more concerned with ensuring her safety than with how she would react. But he worried that the teabags and kettle, and the accompanying notes, would be interpreted as an insult, or at the very least seem overly familiar from someone she had only just met. But it seemed like she had accepted his gesture with the tongue-in-cheek humor with which it had been intended, and was even getting some use out of the items.

He then spotted both of the notes he'd left with his gifts stuck to her refrigerator with magnets, and a surprised flush of pleasure spread through him.

"Right," Christine announced, padding down the hallway on bare feet. "What are we feeling? Black? White? Green? Herbal?"

She had scrubbed her face bare, braided her hair, and changed into a pair of sweatpants and a tank top. Erik suddenly felt ridiculously overdressed in his suit, but he couldn't help but marvel at how relaxed she seemed in his presence. No one ever let their guard down around him like this, not even Nadir.

"Herbal, please."

She brushed past him and reached up to take the tins of tea he'd bought her down from the cabinet. Her shirt rode up slightly as she did so, and Erik swallowed convulsively. He wondered if it was a facet of his lifelong desire for normalcy that made him more affected by Christine in her everyday clothes than in elaborate lingerie.

"You know, Erik, you can get comfortable, too." Christine threw a studiously casual glance over her shoulder when she went to the sink to fill the kettle. "You don't have to keep your shoes or your jacket on… Or your mask."

Erik stiffened, his heartrate spiking. "I'm quite comfortable, thank you," he replied crisply.

"Hey," she said softly, setting the kettle down and turning to face him. "I know I'm basically still a stranger to you, so this may be kind of rushing things. But you've been nothing but wonderful to me since we met, and I really want us to be friends and for you to be able to trust me. And that thing _can't_ be comfortable…"

Erik let out a laugh so bitter it made Christine flinch. "Trust me, my dear, it is _far_ more comfortable than the alternative."

"Erik-"

"No." The word was cold and implacable.

"Look, whatever it is, I promise-"

"This was a mistake." Erik whirled on his feet and stalked for the front door.

"Wait!" Christine bolted forward and slammed her back against the door right as Erik grasped the doorknob. Her hands rested against his chest, as if preparing to push him back if she had to, and Erik's wild eyes darted back and forth between them and her face. "Please don't go. I'm so sorry. I swear I won't bring it up again. It's your business and I had absolutely no right to push."

Erik's heart pounded almost violently in his chest, and he wondered distantly if Christine could feel it beneath her hands. Her desperate lunge to block him from leaving and her fervent apology were… startling, to say the least. People never cared if their questions about the mask bothered him. They only cared about having their curiosity assuaged. They _certainly_ didn't care enough to forcibly prevent him from leaving. She had touched him, _was still touching him_ , and had promised not to bring it up again, and Erik's head was reeling from trying to process everything while the haze of fear and anger at her probing still clouded his brain.

"Please stay. Let's just go have our tea and watch a movie and forget I ever even brought it up. Please?"

Even in the midst of his fight-or-flight mode, she was impossible to resist. With a grim nod, he released the knob and took a step back, causing Christine's hands to fall away from his chest. He missed their warmth immediately.

Christine gave him a relieved smile and gestured for him to have a seat on the couch while she finished making their tea.

He sank stiffly onto the edge of the seat, his hands curling over his knees like claws. When she offered him a mug, he accepted without comment, warily watching her take her seat out of the corner of his eye. Half of him was just waiting for her to continue her line of questioning, or, worse yet, make a grab for the mask. It wouldn't be the first time.

But all she did was grab the remote to turn her TV and blu-ray player on. "So," she offered tentatively. "Should we continue our Disney marathon, or have you had enough?"

"I'm not sure I'm quite in the mood for a children's movie tonight," he finally responded in a strained voice. "Though… I did enjoy the music, last time."

"Ah, so a grown-up musical? I think we can manage that. How do you feel about Little Shop of Horrors?"

"I'm familiar with the Broadway adaptation, but I've never seen the film."

"Then you are in for a treat, dear sir!" Abandoning the movie streaming app she had been searching through, Christine hopped up to fetch her personal DVD collection.

She shot him an excited look once she'd inserted the disc and settled back beside him, but her smile faltered when he failed to meet her eyes. Erik was still feeling too much like the walls of the room were closing in on him to fall back into their playful manner from before. Eventually, though, Christine's tentative commentary throughout the movie, and, more importantly, her lack of any further mention of the mask, brought Erik back to himself. Not even an hour into the film, they were back to their easy banter, and Christine had resumed her prior habit of singing along enthusiastically with all of the songs.

Her interpretation of Audrey II's soulful baritone in _Feed Me_ was particularly amusing, and before he could think better of it, Erik suddenly found himself jumping in with Seymour's part.

" _I don't know."_

Christine cut off immediately, staring at him in shock and disbelief.

Erik felt a blush creeping up his neck, but nonetheless continued with the next lines. " _I don't know_. _I have so, so many strong reservations._ _Should I go and perform… mutilation?_ "

Christine's startled, almost-dazed expression slowly melted away into a delighted grin, and when Audrey II came back in, she resumed her part with a challenging raise of her eyebrow.

" _Think about a room at the Ritz, wrapped in velvet, covered in glitz! A little nookie, gonna clean up your zits and you'll git it_."

Erik smirked and continued, perfectly affecting Seymour's earnest excitement. " _Gee, I'd like a Harley machine, toolin' around like I was James Dean. Makin' all the guys on the corner turn green_!"

They carried on swapping lines with barely repressed grins, and then came the part where both characters sang together, and Erik had never experienced anything in his life quite like the feeling of joining his song with another's. His voice melded with Christine's in a tight, almost dissonant harmony, and he felt something like bliss coursing through his veins.

When the song came to a close, they were left staring at each other with silly grins and no small amount of wonder in both of their eyes.

"You have ' _some experience_ ' with singing?" Christine questioned incredulously, giving his chest a playful smack. "That was incredible! I've seriously never heard anything like it. Why the hell aren't you some world famous singer by now?"

Erik's expression immediately darkened.

Christine's brow furrowed in confusion at his reaction, but then her gaze flicked to his mask, and her mouth formed into a small 'o'. She took a breath, no doubt preparing to launch into an apology, but Erik held a hand up to stop her.

He was feeling uncharacteristically confident after their impromptu duet. And he was starting to realize that if he didn't get this over with now, it was going to hang like a pall over them whenever they were together. "It's a birth defect."

Christine's mouth clamped shut in surprise.

"A severe one, that people have reacted very strongly to my whole life. I've found that I prefer the suspicion and social judgement that the mask engenders to the revulsion or pity caused by my bare face."

Christine sucked in a startled breath. She hesitated a long time before replying, seeming to consider her words very carefully. "Are you so sure that revulsion and pity are the only two options?"

"They're the only ones I've ever experienced." Erik was aiming for unfeeling nonchalance, but he knew his words sounded harsh and bitter.

"Erik," Christine began, grasping his hand. Her fingers were soft and gentle, and her voice was thick with compassion, and for a moment Erik was struck with an almost childlike desire to just curl up in her lap and be held. "There is so much more to you than your face, and I'm sorry if you've been surrounded by shitty people in the past who haven't been able to see past it, but I _swear_ to you that-"

"No, Christine," Erik interrupted, firmly. He squeezed her hand slightly to soften the sting of his interruption. "I appreciate the sentiment, truly. It's more than most people have ever offered me before. But… I've had so little friendship in my life, and you've treated me so… _normally_. I don't want that to change. It's not a lack of faith in you, but I don't want you to _have_ to see past my face. And nothing you say is going to change that."

Christine, bleeding heart that she seemed to be, looked nearly on the verge of tears. But she nodded resolutely. "I won't bring it up again. Promise."

Erik nodded his gratitude, and they settled back to watch the rest of the movie in silence. The lighthearted feel of the evening had been thoroughly shattered, but in its place was some deeper sense of connection, and Erik left Christine's apartment in the early hours of the morning with something almost approaching contentment settling over him.


	5. Chapter 5

They settled into something of a routine, in the months that followed.

When Erik showed up at the club the following Saturday, Christine had joked with him during her shift, as usual, and walked out at the end of the night to find him sitting on his motorcycle, two helmets in his hands and an expression of forced casualness on his face.

Christine had accepted the smaller of the helmets without comment, her eyes sparkling with pleasure, and Erik let out a sigh of relief as he hid his face and replaced his mask with the tinted helmet. He had driven to her apartment with her arms wrapped tightly around him, and they spent another evening watching movies and drinking tea.

After that, it became an unspoken agreement that Erik would visit the club once a week and ferry Christine home. Their movie nights would occasionally branch into late night cooking sessions, if one of them (usually Erik) had skipped dinner that day, or heated discussions of music or literature. Erik's favorite moments, though, were when they sang together, whether it was along with a movie or the radio, or, more recently, during the impromptu vocal lessons he had started giving her, running through classic arias and duets while he banged out an accompaniment on her cheap, plastic synthesizer. He had seriously considered buying her a proper piano, but had to acknowledge that the cramped one-bedroom apartment just didn't have the space for it. Also, her neighbors probably hated her enough as it was.

It was simultaneously the happiest and most miserable he had ever been in his life. Every moment spent with her was joy itself, but the more time he spent with her, the more agonizing his time away from her became. His attachment to her had grown with a speed and ferocity that he suspected was likely unhealthy, maybe even bordering on obsessive. But she was just so _wonderful_. Light-hearted and quick-witted and talented and kind. Truly, genuinely kind, like no one he had ever met before, except perhaps Nadir. But her behavior around him had none of the strained air of pity that Nadir sometimes failed to hide from him. She teased him, argued with him, and every so often he could swear she even flirted with him, but never did she seem to fear or pity him. And the easy, untainted affection that she offered was like a drug to him, one that he was quickly becoming addicted to.

She consumed his every thought, to the point that only seeing her once a week was never going to be enough to satisfy him. But he was scared to push outside of the boundaries they seemed to have set for their relationship. He had made an offhanded comment, once, about driving her home from work after her other weekend shifts, since all of them ended too late for public transport to be available. But Christine had brushed it off with a joke that, if he were to become her personal chauffeur, she would have to buy one of those funny hats for him. Erik hadn't broached the subject again, but the thought of her walking home by herself so late at night had started to eat at him.

Eventually, he had given in and started following her home on those nights. He knew he was crossing a major line, but her safety mattered more to him than such things. And he rationalized his actions with the fact that he never stayed to spy on her once she got home. Just ensured she made it to her door safely and unmolested. So surely it wasn't _that_ much of an encroachment of her privacy.

Any question of ceasing his covert guardianship ended the first time she made a delivery for the Shah on her way home from work. At first, Erik thought she had just gotten distracted and made a wrong turn, but the further Christine had walked into the notoriously rough neighborhood, the more his concern grew.

Her purpose became apparent when she approached a group of men sitting on the steps of a ramshackle apartment building and surreptitiously dropped a backpack at one man's feet while the others made a show of catcalling her.

She made it home without incident, that night, and from the next several such deliveries he witnessed. Erik felt his fears ebbing just slightly in the face of the quiet confidence with which she navigated the different neighborhoods and performed her task. Begrudging though her participation might be, she wasn't a half-bad criminal, his Christine.

On one excursion, though, he grew concerned when he noticed her steps falter at the sight of the man sitting in front of the chop shop that seemed to be her target destination.

The man's buff, tattoo-covered arms were proudly displayed in a tank top, despite the cold. He eyed Christine up and down as she approached and let out a whistle.

"Hey, _mami_. What can I do for you?"

"Is Javier around?" Christine asked, perfectly polite and composed despite the predatory way the man was eyeing her. "I've got a delivery for him."

"Oh yeah? That's a coincidence, 'cuz I got a package for you, too." He leered and placed a hand over his crotch, leaving no illusion as to his meaning.

Erik silenced a growl and stalked forward to hide behind the corner of a nearby building, putting himself in position in case he needed to take action.

Christine just raised an eyebrow at him, looking thoroughly unimpressed. "I would tell you to just mail it to me, but do they even sell postage for packages that small?"

The man's jaw dropped in outrage, but a hand clamping onto his shoulder silenced whatever retort he was preparing. "Cut it out, Miguel."

Erik eyed the newcomer, who seemed equally as buff and tattooed as the man he had just chastised, with wary assessment.

"Sorry 'bout my cousin, beautiful," he said to Christine with a wolfish grin. "He's not so good with the ladies, but that never seems to stop him from trying."

Christine offered a tight smile in return. "Yeah, well, word of advice for Miguel, shoving your dick at a girl is _never_ going to work as a pick-up. Why anyone would ever think otherwise is beyond me."

"Are you taking notes, _cabrón_?" Javier asked, slapping the back of Miguel's head and earning a cry of indignation. "We'll work on his manners, _mami_ , I promise."

Christine's smile this time seemed slightly more amused. Then, to Erik's shock, she walked forward and pulled Javier into a brief hug. He felt jealousy boiling through his veins until he noticed her furtively drop a bag at the man's feet, while he simultaneously slipped a fold of cash into the pocket of the leather jacket Erik had given her.

With a wave, she turned and began walking back to her apartment. Erik followed at a discreet distance behind her, still keyed up with anger and contemplating how he could dish out retribution without Christine finding out. But he couldn't help but be proud of how she had handled herself. Would this woman never fail to impress him?

* * *

"I swear, I don't know how she does it, but the shoes Madame Giry got for this newest batch of costumes are even worse than the last. I get that the woman was a ballerina for like twenty years and probably doesn't even have functioning nerves in her feet anymore, but _I_ do! And right now they're screaming." Christine limped into her apartment and flung herself dramatically onto the couch. They had taken Erik's motorcycle that night, so she'd had to hold in her complaints during the ride over. She gingerly toed her tennis shoes off, wincing as one rubbed against a blister on her heel. A chuckling Erik draped his coat over the armchair and bent to deposit her shoes in the corner of the room along with his, before moving into the kitchen to start brewing their customary tea.

"Perhaps you and the other girls should unionize. Go on strike until Antoinette agrees to allow sensible footwear."

"Will you help me make picketing signs?"

"Of course. What sorts of slogans would you like? 'To hell with heels'?"

"Oh, that's a good one. And how about… Um… 'Stilettos are fascist'?"

Erik cocked his head and shot her an unimpressed look from the kitchen. "Really? You couldn't do any better than that?"

"Be nice to me," Christine whined, piteously. "My feet hurt."

Erik just chuckled. When the tea was ready, he handed her a mug and moved to sit beside her. Christine lifted her legs to make room for him, then thoughtlessly dropped them back down over his lap. Her actions had stemmed mostly from exhaustion (Madame Giry had written some pretty brutal choreography into some of the new numbers), since her muscles hurt and she couldn't be bothered to sit up. She didn't think about how Erik might react to such a gesture until she felt him stiffen beneath her.

She inwardly cursed herself and tried to figure out the least awkward way to apologize and move away, but then she felt the warmth from his mug of tea as he rested it against her knee, and then, hesitantly, his empty hand settled lightly beside it. He shot her a nervous glance, as if waiting to be scolded for his actions, and her heart broke just a little.

"Foot rub?" she asked, pouting at him hopefully, because she was starting to suspect how rare physical contact had been in Erik's life, prior to meeting her.

His eyes flared with obvious surprise, but he recovered quickly and shot her a teasing grin. "Come here, you pitiful thing." He set his mug of tea down on the coffee table and grasped her foot in both hands. His movements were timid at first, but he studied her reactions carefully and soon adapted his technique until he was rubbing his thumbs down her arch with sure, firm strokes.

Christine groaned and let her head fall back blissfully. She found herself secretly pleased that his confidence seemed to have grown so much in the past few months. The Erik she had first met had looked horrified and apologetic every time he so much as accidentally brushed against her when they were cooking together.

"You know, if the whole organized crime thing doesn't work out for you, you have a promising career as a masseur ahead of you."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Speaking of, how was your week, Mr. Mobster? Get up to anything interesting? Pull a bank job? Have a rumble?"

"Just delivered bootleg liquor to all the speakeasies," Erik deadpanned, rolling his eyes at her.

"Ooh!" Christine exclaimed in delight. "Did you wear pinstripes and spats while you did it?"

"Of course. As if any self-respecting gangster wouldn't."

"Excellent."

"How about you?" Erik switched over to her other foot. "Anything interesting happen this week?"

"Nothing, really, aside from the new torture devices the Madame is trying to pass off as footwear. And some creep hassling me when I was making a delivery for the Shah. But I'm actually kind of proud of how I handled him."

Erik chuckled to himself, and, distracted by his current task, muttered thoughtlessly, "Yes, I'm sure he'll think of you every time he goes to check his mail."

"…I'm sorry?"

Erik froze, eyes blowing wide in horror. Christine sat up slowly and pulled her legs out of his grip.

"Erik… How could you possibly know what I said to that guy?" Her voice shook slightly with trepidation.

He could only stare at her mutely, his brain having crashed to a halt in his panic.

"You were following me." Even as she made it a statement, not a question, she struggled to believe it. But Erik's violent flinch was all the admission of guilt she needed.

" _Why_?"

"I…" His voice cracked, so he swallowed to moisten his throat and tried again. "I was worried about you walking home by yourself," he admitted in a hoarse whisper. "But you said you didn't want me giving you rides every night…"

"So you started _following me_?" she demanded in a horrified shout. "Erik, what the _fuck_?! That is so far from okay."

"I know-"

"No! No, you don't know!" Christine's voice was choked with the threat of tears. "You can't possibly know what it feels like right now to find out that somebody I _trusted_ has been basically _stalking_ me!"

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I never meant-" his frantic cries cut off in a desperate moan, his eyes gone wild and frantic and an edge of hysteria to his voice. "Please, just let me explain…" He reached a trembling hand out, but Christine jerked back in horror before he could touch her. Erik's face crumpled with pain.

At a different moment, she might have concerned herself with thoughts of how many people had jerked away from his touch before for him to look so devastated by her actions. But right then she was too frightened to care.

"You need to leave."

"Christine, _please_!" Erik sank to his knees before her in supplication.

The gut-wrenching desperation in that plea was almost enough to break her, but she was feeling frightened and betrayed and very close to panicking and she needed him _gone_.

"Get out. Right now."

Erik clutched at his mask and bent over on himself, as if she had punched him in the gut. His shoulders shook violently, though he didn't make a sound. And god _damn_ her naïve, bleeding heart for aching at the sight, but suddenly it was all she could do to keep from falling to the ground and wrapping herself around him. But no. No! He had _stalked_ her, for Christ's sake!

"Erik." Her voice was cold and hard, and Erik's whole body clenched at the sound, as if anticipating a blow. Slowly, he rose to his feet, though his upper body remained hunched over with his hands shielding his face. He slunk past her to the door, hesitating for a long moment before opening it and stepping out.

Christine rushed to lock the door. Then she sank to the ground in front of it and sobbed.

* * *

...you're welcome? *runs and hides*

For the record, the extent of my knowledge of heroin trafficking comes from watching The Wire. So, if anything about Christine's delivery method seems unrealistic to you... Well... I suppose that begs the question of why you know such about it, hm?

Also please review. :)


	6. Chapter 6

The second Saturday that Erik didn't show up to the club, some of the other performers asked after him. He had gained some popularity with the girls after his confrontation with Buquet, and they often liked to tease Christine about her devoted 'fanclub.'

Christine had brushed off their questions with vague excuses and tried not to cry on the job.

By the fourth Saturday without an appearance, Meg was suspicious enough to confront her.

"Okay, that's it. Erik's been AWOL for weeks and you've been moping around like you just got dumped. What the hell happened?"

But Christine had only shaken her head, unable to bring herself to talk about it yet.

By the eighth Saturday, she had reached her breaking point.

"Hello?" Meg's voice chimed through the cell phone Christine held to her ear.

"I've been staring at a teapot for the past two hours."

"I'm coming over."

Meg arrived brandishing a bottle of wine in each hand and took the time to pour each of them a glass before settling next to Christine on the sofa.

"Alright. Spill."

So Christine gave a detailed account of her confrontation with Erik in between gulps of wine.

"...shit..." Meg summarized, eloquently, once she was done. "That is... Not at all what I was expecting."

"Yeah. Well. He wears a mask and works for a druglord and I watched him strangle a man half to death on the night that I met him. I don't know why the hell I was surprised." She gave a strained laugh. "Nothing about that particularly screams 'sane and well-adjusted'."

"But?" Meg prompted gently.

"But he was so smart and interesting and... And good to me. And I know that all we had was this weird friendship where we never deviated from our unspoken schedule or even exchanged numbers or anything but... It was always the highlight of my week. And even after everything... You know, part of me is mad that he hasn't shown up at the club to beg me to forgive him or something." Christine downed the rest of her wine and dropped her head into her hands. "God, you must think I'm totally nuts. After you find out a guy has been stalking you, you're supposed to be afraid of him, right? Not pine after him?"

Meg sipped at her glass contemplatively. "Well..."

"Well?" Christine perked up, looking suddenly hopeful.

"Well, I mean, you and Erik did meet because somebody was attempting to rape you."

Christine couldn't help her flinch at the reminder.

"And you do work weird hours that have you walking home by yourself in the middle of the night. When you're not moonlighting as a drug mule in sketchy neighborhoods."

"So you're saying he was justified in following me home every night?" Christine asked incredulously.

Meg shook her head. "No. I'm saying he was justified to worry about you. How he handled that worry, though... That's what scares me. You guys were friends. Why didn't he just ask to give you rides whenever you'd be out late or making a delivery for the Shah?"

"I think he did, once. But I just made a joke out of it, because I already felt like I was taking advantage of him with the free rides once a week. And then he never brought it up again."

"Any idea why not?"

"I think... I don't know. I kind of think he didn't know he'd be allowed to. Or allowed to push back on anything I'd decided on. I know it sounds crazy, because out in public he's just, like, this tall, imposing specter of a man who always looks like he's in the middle of contemplating world domination or something. But in private, he's so... Careful. Almost timid. It's like when you meet a dog whose previous owner was abusive. The smallest things make him tense up like he's just waiting on me to go off on him."

Meg hummed thoughtfully as she leaned over to pour them both refills.

"Do you think he _was_ abused?"

"Honestly... I'm starting to wonder. I tried to get him to take off his mask, once, just so he could be comfortable. He freaked out and tried to run out of the apartment and I had to swear not to mention it again before he'd agree to stay."

"Jesus. Did he say anything about why he wears it?"

"Just that it's to cover a birth defect. A pretty bad one, from the sound of it. He wouldn't say any more than that, but... I get the feeling he's had really bad experiences because of it."

"Poor guy..." Meg sighed sadly, but then her eyes hardened. "But just because he may have a sympathetic reason for being maladjusted and creepy, and said creepiness may have stemmed from legitimate concern for your safety... That's not enough of a reason to trust him again. The guy completely invaded your privacy. And he seems more than a little obsessed with you. What happens if you meet a cute guy and he gets jealous and goes all psycho killer?"

Christine sighed her frustration and stared a hole in the carpet. "Logically, I know that what you're saying makes perfect sense. But... I don't know. My brain can't seem to convince the rest of me that Erik would ever actually hurt me. This probably sounds extra crazy, and a little self-absorbed, but it really seems like he would rather do himself harm than ever so much as inconvenience me."

"Like in Hannibal? With the handcuffs and the butcher knife?" Meg asked, raising her eyebrow.

Christine let out a startled laugh. "Yes. Exactly like that."

"So you're his Clarise?"

"I guess so."

"You know that's really not helping you make the case against him being a creepy psycho killer, right?"

Christine just laughed and drank more wine.

"So... What are you going to do, Clarise?"

"Honestly... I have no fucking idea."

* * *

In the end, the decision made itself for her.

Christine was in the dressing room, changing into a fishnet body stocking in preparation for an upcoming routine, when a handsome blond man burst in through the employee's entrance. Several of the girls changing near the doorway squealed in indignation at the blast of icy air that followed him in from the alley.

"Jeez, Andrew, cutting it a little close, huh?" Carla, a statuesque redhead who was joining Christine and Andrew in the upcoming routine, remarked. "We're on in five minutes."

Andrew ignored her in favor of stripping down to his briefs and digging through the costume rack beside him.

"Was he cute, at least?" Christine asked slyly. She gave a pointed glance to the bruises darkening on the side of his neck.

"Very," Andrew replied smugly, while struggling into a pair of tight leather pants. "But hey, Chris, I should warn you that I think I saw that Buquet creep lurking around in the parking lot as I was coming in."

Christine had to stop applying her mascara before she stabbed herself in the eye.

"He ran off after I shouted at him, but I still don't think any of you should go out there alone." He raised his voice to include the rest of the women bustling around the dressing room.

"Well I'd be more than happy to escort any one of you lovely ladies home, if you need it," Richard, another of the club's few male performers, chimed in with a cheerful leer.

This was met with a series of good-natured groans, but several people cast curious eyes towards Christine.

"For real, Chris, I know the creep has it out for you, especially," Andrew continued, sounding quite somber even as he pulled a tight fishnet tank top over his head. "You need a ride tonight?"

"That's sweet of you," Christine answered with numb lips. "But I'm covered. Promise."

"Is your mystery man finally gonna grace us with his presence again?" Sarah, a striking, dark-skinned dancer, asked teasingly.

"You mean her pet freak?" Carla muttered to herself caustically.

Christine cut a quick glare at Carla, gave Sarah a half-hearted smile, and tried to steady her hand enough to apply her lipstick.

She went through the routine (Darling Nikki, by Prince) on auto-pilot, grateful that Andrew was the only one singing, while she and Carla just served as backup dancers. As soon as she was done, she rushed over to the petite brunette who was usually in charge of delivering drinks to the VIP lounges upstairs.

"Hey, Jamie? Is Nadir in tonight?"

Jamie cocked her head to the side. "You got a description? Most of those guys don't take the time to introduce themselves."

"Short black hair, green eyes, nice smile, scar on his left cheek?"

"Oh, him! Yeah, he's up there playing poker." She gave Christine a teasing grin. "You have good taste."

Christine tried to match her expression, figuring that playing into her assumption was easier than explaining the full situation. "Would you mind trading sections with me for just a minute? I'll share my tips."

"Sure thing, hon. Here, I was just about to take this tray up there. Let me walk you through who gets what."

A few minutes later, Christine was walking up the stairs on unsteady legs, questioning her sanity every moment of the way.

When she entered the balconied lounge where the Shah and his men were gathered around a poker table, Siavash raised an eyebrow in surprise at the sudden staffing change, but didn't react past a friendly smile and polite incline of his head.

Nadir, however, was clearly trying hard not to stare at her in... What? Assessment? Curiosity? Surprise? Whatever it was, it was clear by his interest that Erik must have told him _something_ about her.

She delivered the rest of the drinks efficiently, exchanging a few flirtatious quips with the men who felt inclined to speak to her, and then leaned past Nadir's shoulder to place his drink in front of him, last.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" she murmured in his ear.

Nadir nodded, looking surprised, and Christine tried not to notice the envious looks that most of the men shot him, or the coolly assessing glance that Siavash turned their way.

He promptly folded and excused himself from the game, following Christine into the hallway leading back to the stairs.

"Miss Daaé, I don't believe we've had the pleasure," he said in a pleasant, accented voice. He held his hand out for Christine to shake. She bit back a smile as she took it, amused at his gentility in spite of her nerves.

"Christine, please. It feels a little weird being formal when I'm basically wearing a volleyball net."

Nadir snorted in surprised amusement, his gaze making a reflexive survey of her form before settling back on her face respectfully. "Christine, then. Is there something I can help you with?"

"I was wondering if you had Erik's phone number."

Nadir's dark eyebrows jumped nearly to his hairline with surprise. "I... was under the impression that you had cut off contact with the man. He made it sound like a rather permanent thing."

Christine shifted uncomfortably. "Did he tell you what happened?"

"Only that he had betrayed your trust and that you were surely never to speak to him again. I couldn't get anything past that. He wasn't feeling particularly sociable when I saw him." Nadir said this in a suspiciously casual tone, and Christine felt an irrational surge of guilt.

She stayed silent for a long moment, unsure how much she should confide in this man who was, after all, a stranger to her. But he was the only other person she knew who Erik had even a semblance of a relationship with, and his kind eyes and earnest expression seemed to inspire trust. Before she could think better of it, she suddenly found herself confessing the entire incident to him.

When she finished, Nadir looked pained, but not as surprised as she would have expected. She couldn't decide if this was a good sign or a bad one.

"I'm so sorry, my dear. After everything that's happened to you recently, I'm sure that the last thing you needed was to feel threatened by someone you considered a friend." He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "But might I ask why you're seeking out a way to contact Erik now?" His words were gentle and lacking in judgement, and Christine decided that she had made the right call in confiding in him.

"Did he tell you how we met?"

"Word had spread about the incident on its own, but he filled in some of the details."

Christine tensed, but she supposed she shouldn't have been surprised that Siavash and his men had learned about everything. She still didn't know exactly what Erik had done to Buquet when she'd left them alone together, but she doubted the results had been subtle. With a steadying breath, she continued, "Well, someone just told me they saw Buquet waiting out in the parking lot..."

Nadir's eyes widened in alarm, but his response was calm and measured. "And your first thought was to turn to Erik for protection."

Christine crossed her arms over her chest defensively and stared at the ground. "You must think I'm crazy..."

"No, honestly, I don't," he interjected gently. "Erik proved himself a capable protector when you were attacked by this man before. I think it's understandable that your instincts would guide you to him now." He hesitated a moment. "But if this is just about concern for your safety, know that I would be happy to escort you home tonight. And I can speak to Siavash about handling Buquet in the long-term."

Christine gave him a wan smile. "Thanks. That's real sweet of you." Then it was her turn to hesitate. "Does he have a history?"

Nadir cocked his head to the side in question. "Buquet?"

"Erik." Christine darted her eyes up from the carpet she had been studying. "A history of-of stalking the women in his life. Friends or girlfriends or whatever."

Nadir gave her a sympathetic look. "My dear, as far as I know, Erik has never _had_ another woman in his life. You are something of an anomaly."

"Oh."

He waited patiently for her to speak again.

"So... Is that all this is about, then? I'm the first girl to spend any time with him, so he... I don't know, gets kind of obsessive?" Christine hated herself for the edge of disappointment to her voice. God, she was pathetic.

"I think a lack of relationships in general, romantic or otherwise, likely contributed to his inability to process all of his emotions and respond to them appropriately. But I think it would be selling both of you short to say that his interest in you stems from nothing but desire for female companionship. There are always ways for men to acquire that, if they wish it. And as long as I've known him, Erik has never tried to so much as befriend another woman, much less... Well..."

Christine blushed at the insinuation, but felt a secret rush of relief. "He said something to me, once, about having so little friendship in his life... I could always tell he was lonely. I guess I just... Underestimated exactly how much."

Nadir gave a weary sigh. "To my knowledge, you and I are the only people he might even consider calling a friend. And in my case it's rather begrudgingly." This last was added with a weak hint of a smirk.

"How much of his isolation stems from his deformity?" she blurted before she could think better of it. "Is it really that bad?"

"Christine, I'm sure your heart is in the right place, but I have to warn you. Erik has very little tolerance for pity. So if you're looking for a reason to feel sorry for him..."

"I'm not trying to pity him," she interjected earnestly. "I just want to understand him." She ran a hand through her hair and glanced at him with an oddly vulnerable expression. "If I'm being completely honest with myself... I've missed him. More than I expected to when all of this first happened. And I think part of me has just been waiting on an excuse to try and work things out with him. Compassion seems like as good a reason as any, don't you think?"

Nadir stared at her, looking stunned, until a slow smile spread across his face. "I can see why he likes you."

Christine blushed again, but continued to peer at Nadir imploringly until he sighed and ran a hand over his face.

"I've only seen him without his mask once. It was... Jarring."

Christine couldn't help but notice the slightly haunted look that crossed his expression at the recollection, and she began to suspect that 'jarring' was a significant understatement.

"But I don't believe Erik would have had a normal, happy childhood, regardless of his birth defect. From what I can gather from the few snippets he's let loose about his past, his mother was severely manic depressive. She raised him unsupervised and unmedicated for a number of years until child services found out and intervened."

He paused, as if deciding how best to continue. "He was understandably troubled from such an experience, and then I think his... uniqueness kept him isolated from his peers once he was finally enrolled in public schools. There were issues, between him and his classmates. It proved too much for most of his foster families to handle for long."

Christine hummed in sympathy, remembering how cruel some of her classmates had been to her just on account of her threadbare clothing and secondhand school supplies.

"Eventually, he ended up with a man who was fostering more for the government reimbursement checks than any sense of altruism. It turns out the man was involved in illegal gambling rings for both bareknuckle boxing and dog-fighting. Erik's issues at school had made him a rather adept fighter, already, which his guardian took note of."

"Jesus Christ." Christine held a hand to her mouth in horror, already knowing where this was going.

Nadir nodded sadly. "He ended up entering Erik into a number of fights when he was only a teenager."

"And that's where the Shah found him, isn't it?"

"Yes. He was spectating and noted Erik's abilities. And he's always looking for opportunities to earn loyalty from people who could be useful to him... He got Erik out of an abusive household and trained him up to be a part of his gang. To this day, I don't know if Erik is happy with the trade or not."

Christine felt sick to her stomach. "Poor Erik..." she murmured. "No wonder he's got issues. I honestly can't believe he's as functional as he is."

Nadir laughed somewhat morosely. "Indeed. He's something of a marvel, all things considered."

Christine chewed at her lip thoughtfully, then fixed Nadir with a piercing look. "Is he dangerous?"

"Undoubtedly."

"Is he dangerous to _me_?" she amended.

Nadir looked torn. "By rights, I know what answer I _should_ give you. The correct answer from anyone giving advice on whether or not someone should continue their association with an emotionally unstable criminal..."

Christine just stared at him, silent and unblinking, and Nadir hung his head.

"Allah help me, no. I don't think he is. He's had a darkness beaten into him by the rest of the world, but he's got a good heart. And in my soul I can't believe that he would ever harm anyone who's taken the time to be kind to him."

"Thank you for your honesty," Christine declared sincerely. She then reached over to the tray she'd brought the drinks up on and grabbed an order pad and a pen, holding them out to Nadir in a silent request.

"I hope you know what you're doing," Nadir muttered, scribbling something onto the pad and handing it back to her.

Christine's heart flipped in her chest as she stared at the ten digits that had been scrawled onto the paper. "Yeah... So do I."

* * *

 _Hey, Erik? It's Christine._

The phone screen was blurred by the violent trembling of the hand that clutched it. But the words remained unchanged no matter how long he stared at them.

 _I got your number from Nadir. I hope that's okay._

He needed to reply. Quickly, before she came to her senses and remembered that she hated him. But all he seemed capable of doing was staring at the screen some more, until another message finally popped up.

 _Look, I know we left things weird between us and there's a lot that we need to talk about. I'm still not okay with what you did. But right now I can't even care about any of that._

 _Someone said they saw Buquet hanging around outside the club and I'm freaking out._

There was a long, agonizing wait while he watched the ellipses appearing and disappearing in the corner of his phone screen, indicating that she was typing.

 _People keep offering to watch out for me and take me home tonight, but all I can think is that I won't feel safe unless you're with me._

The spectrum of emotions inspired by that single text were dizzying, but Erik shoved all of them aside in an instant. Christine needed him to perform a task, and so perform it he would. He could take the time to agonize over the implications of every word of that message once her safety was assured.

A calm settled over him, his professional veneer clicking into place. He pulled on his jacket and stalked quickly to his weapons safe to load up everything he needed into his pockets before heading out the door. He typed a one-handed reply to her before sliding on a pair of leather gloves and climbing into the driver's seat of his car.

 _I'll be right there._

His phone buzzed a moment later, but at that point he was already driving, navigating the heavy DC traffic with a reckless aggression that he only just compensated for with his precision and skill.

He arrived at the club in record time, but chose to circle the block instead of pulling into the parking lot. Spying what he was looking for after his second sweep, he redirected his car down a side street and parked in the loading dock of a nearby restaurant.

He then exited the vehicle and silently stalked to the bank of dumpsters in the adjacent alley that his prey was crouched behind. His noose was around the man's throat before he ever registered his presence.

"Apparently I didn't make myself sufficiently clear, last time," he remarked casually, raising his voice just slightly to be heard over Buquet's choked spluttering and the rasp of denim over asphault as he frantically scrambled to free himself.

He waited patiently until Buquet was near enough to unconsciousness to stop struggling, then loosened his hold just enough to allow the man to draw a breath. Erik ran a coldly assessing glance over his prostrate form, noticing the splint on his right hand and the swollen, bruised fingers that protruded from it.

He prodded Buquet's ribs experimentally with the toe of his shoe, eliciting a pained hiss.

"I must say, I'm surprised you decided to enact your revenge before you had fully recovered. Christine is a dancer, and hardly weak. However did you plan to overpower her? Hm?" He crouched down and did a quick search of Buquet's pockets, batting his hand away like that of a misbehaving child when the man made a feeble attempt to stop him.

He quickly deposited Buquet's pistol in the pocket of his own jacket, then resumed his search and pulled away holding a pair of handcuffs and a syringe filled with some sort of clear liquid.

"Ah, I see you came prepared." Erik's voice remained perfectly composed, but his eyes flared with the promise of violence.

Buquet let out a terrified whine and tried to speak, but Erik yanked the noose tight to prevent the words from escaping.

"Well, sir. I believe my promise last time was to relieve you of your hands should you choose to lay them upon her again, was it not?"

Buquet's eyes widened in horror, and he jerked his hands away from where they had been scrabbling at the noose for purchase in favor of hiding them beneath his back.

Erik let out a darkly amused chuckle. "Oh, no, my dear man. I'm afraid we're long past that point." And, without even giving him time to fully register the words, Erik kicked him over until he lay on his stomach, then pressed a foot between his shoulder blades and yanked the rope up hard. A crack resounded through the alley, and Buquet's body fell limp.

Erik did a quick sweep of the area to make sure there were no security cameras or witnesses, then hoisted the body over his shoulder and stalked back to his car to deposit it in the trunk.

Driving far more carefully this time, he returned to his house just long enough to place Buquet in a freezer in the garage, to await proper disposal once he had the time, and then headed back to Madame Giry's.

And then came the hard part. Erik's pulse, which had remained slow and even during the altercation with Buquet, started to race, and he was beginning to wish he had kept the leather gloves on to hide the sweatiness of his palms.

This was really happening. He was going to see _her_ again. After two long months of thinking he'd lost her forever.

 _I won't feel safe unless you're with me._

The words were playing through his head on repeat, now that he was no longer focused on his task, and the warmth and pride they tried to fill him with seemed to be warring with the shame and despair that had eaten at him since his last encounter with Christine, until all he could really feel was nauseous.

But she needed him, so everything else was irrelevant.

He spotted her easily once he entered Madame Giry's, his eyes drawn to her as if by a magnet. She looked just as painfully desirable as ever, with her curves only barely covered by a set of lilac silk underthings and a black fishnet body stocking. But even from across the room he could see the anxiety that clouded her eyes, and his heart clenched in remorse.

His poor angel would never have to fear that monster again, but he couldn't even tell her so.

He had made it halfway across the room, but then her eyes landed on him and his courage gave out. An indecipherable expression passed over her face, but she made no move to approach him or speak. Erik, in a moment of panic and cowardice, simply gestured to indicate that he would wait for her outside at their usual spot, and at her nod of comprehension, turned and fled.

He spent the remainder of Christine's work shift waiting in the alley by the employee entrance, and had a moment to appreciate the irony of taking the place of the lurking figure he had been called there to guard against. But he had apparently become enough of a fixture at the club that any of the workers who noticed him on their way out just greeted him with nods and waves.

The casual acceptance was disconcerting, accustomed as he was to the suspicion and fear his mask usually garnered in public. In all the years he had been coming around the club to report to Siavash, any of these same employees who were now waving at him in passing would have cast nervous glances and given him a wide berth. He knew that Christine was to thank for their altered demeanors. His known association with her seemed to have humanized him to the rest of her coworkers.

It was yet another reason to feel grateful towards her, and to loathe himself for ruining everything.

Oh, god, he hoped this détente between them was more than just a one-time deal. He would gladly spend the rest of his days begging her forgiveness, if only she would let him.

And, suddenly, there she stood, the light from the dressing room haloing her flaxen hair until the door fell closed behind her. And it was all he could do to keep himself from falling to his knees and following through on his unspoken vow of penance. Instead he remained totally still, in an attempt to appear non-threatening, and waited for her to make the first move.

A stab of irrational hurt shot through him when he took note of the baggy flannel overshirt she wore over her jeans and cropped t-shirt, in place of the leather jacket he had grown accustomed to seeing her in. He knew he was being completely ridiculous, of course. Spring was approaching, and the temperature was such that the bulkier jacket he currently wore, chosen more for its abundance of pockets than any need of its warmth, seemed somewhat out of place. And even if that weren't the case, he was solely responsible for wrecking their friendship past all repair (or so he had thought until a few hours ago), and he had absolutely no right to expect her to retain any reminders of their connection. He wondered briefly if she had thrown out the kettle he'd given her, too, and the thought burned like acid through his brain.

"Thanks for coming." Christine's voice was hesitant but sincere. And oh, just to hear it again was a balm to his wounded soul.

"Of course," was all Erik could manage in reply.

Christine darted a nervous glance around the alleyway, and Erik remembered himself and quickly ushered her towards his waiting Aston Martin.

The drive was silent and thick with tension. Erik was near to bursting with everything he needed to say to her, but he didn't want her to be trapped in a moving car with him, should she have no desire to hear it. He finally pulled into the parking lot of her building, leaving the car running and gripping the steering wheel until it creaked in protest.

When Christine didn't immediately move to flee from his presence, he gathered his courage and dove right in. "You can't know how much I hate myself, for having frightened you. That was the last thing I ever intended." He spoke his apology to the windshield, incapable of meeting her eyes during his confession.

"I know that it's no excuse for what I did, but please believe me that everything stemmed only from concern for your safety. It was never about trying to control you or invade your privacy or anything like that. I've stayed away since the last time we spoke, I swear to you. And before that I only ever followed you on your late walks home. And I always left as soon as I saw you had made it safely. I doubt it's of much comfort to you that I set parameters to my... my _stalking_ ," the word came out half-choked, as if it hurt him to utter. "But I still need you to know. I can't bear the thought of you feeling unsafe in your own home."

When Christine failed to respond, he took a deep breath and continued on. "I realize now how twisted my logic was in justifying following you _anywhere_ without your knowledge, but at the time, I..." He trailed off, somewhat helplessly, then tried a different tactic. "It's dangerous for anybody to walk through a city alone at night, but knowing about your deal with the Shah... I know how dangerous this world of mine is, and the knowledge that you're a part of it, however minor or temporary your role may be, it _terrifies_ me." He took a deep breath and tried to calm some of the desperation out of his voice.

"I am not an easy man to befriend, Christine, you must know this. The fact that you ever took the time to do so still confounds me. And I have had so little companionship in my life, so few people that I truly cared about... I don't tell you this to earn your pity, but you deserve an honest explanation for why I behaved so detestably..." He chanced a quick glance at her, finding her expression frustratingly inscrutable, and jerked his eyes back to the windshield before continuing. "I don't quite know how to handle it, sometimes, this concern for someone else... this worry and the desperate need to know that they're safe. And you didn't want me hanging around all the time, so I-"

"Is that what you think?" Christine interrupted softly.

Erik turned to stare at her, wide-eyed.

"That I didn't want you around any time outside of our established routine?"

Erik looked utterly lost. "I... I asked for permission to escort you on the nights of your other late shifts. You said no."

"Oh, Erik," she murmured, and there was such sadness in those three syllables. From any other person it would have made him bristle at the perceived pity they offered, but from her, somehow, all it did was make him yearn to crumple into her arms and let her teach him what comfort felt like. "I said no because I didn't want to feel like a charity case. Not because I didn't want to spend any more time with you."

Erik tried very hard to strangle the feeling of hope that was clawing its way inside of him.

"I wanted a friend, not a bodyguard or a chauffeur. But if you were really that concerned over me, you should have said something. Friends are supposed to tell each other when they think they're behaving recklessly or not taking care of themselves. They can't dictate what the other person does with their life, but they can voice their concerns and give advice. And if you had just _told_ me how worried you were, I would have listened. And we could have figured something out." Here her voice turned from gently chiding to accusatory. "But instead you snuck around behind my back and crossed _so_ _many_ boundaries and made me feel scared and threatened by someone I had really started to trust. And nothing about that is okay. You know that, right?" Her eyes, usually so alight with mischief and amusement, were hard and unyielding as they fixed him in place.

"Yes." Erik's answer was blunt and forceful in its fervent sincerity. "I know it, and I will do anything within my power to prove that I have learned from my mistakes, and to earn back your trust. Please, Christine, I beg of you. Anything you ask of me, I will give. Just tell me what I must do to-"

"Teach me self-defense."

Erik's mouth fell open in surprise.

Christine, looking equally surprised by her own outburst, hastened to explain. "When Andrew said he saw Buquet hanging around... I couldn't stop remembering what his knife felt like against my throat, and how it felt knowing that at that moment he could do whatever he wanted to me. And I _hated_ that feeling, and I don't ever want to experience it again."

Were Erik not content in the knowledge that Buquet's corpse was locked away in his freezer back home, Christine's heartrending confession would have been enough to send him after the man in a rage.

"This wouldn't be some sort of penance program for you, by the way," Christine added quickly. "I didn't really mean to blurt it out as an answer to what you needed to do to earn back my trust. I don't have a lot of money, as you know, but I'd want to pay you something. So just name a price that seems reasonable-"

"Your voice." This time it was Erik's turn to interrupt and Christine's turn to drop her jaw in surprise.

"...I'm sorry? What, like the Little Mermaid? Shall I sing into the magic conch, Ursula?"

The quip seemed to roll off her tongue instinctively, but it felt so much more like the Christine he was used to, the vibrant, playful one, than any of their tense and somber discussion of earlier, that it caused his heart to clench.

"Allow me to rephrase," he amended, his lips barely twitching up at the corners, too tentatively to be called a smile. "I want to give you voice lessons. Officially, on a set schedule. Not just spontaneously giving advice and working through an occasional piece with you."

"So in exchange for giving me lessons, you want to give me lessons? Am I getting that right?" Christine raised an incredulous eyebrow, and Erik's lip-twitch crossed over into a faint but identifiable smirk.

"Or you could sign over your voice and your soul, I suppose. Really it's up to you."

Christine smiled at him, and it was as if the suffocating weight that had smothered him during the entire two months of their separation suddenly lifted, leaving him giddy and buoyant.

"Hm, well, you drive a hard bargain. But I suppose I'll go with the lessons, for now."

"Ah, well. The magic conch can wait."

Christine chuckled and shook her head. She gathered her purse from the floorboard and moved to open the door, but paused when she noticed Erik remain fixed in place with the car still running. "No tea tonight?"

His heart thumped against his chest. "I... Wasn't sure if I would be welcome."

Christine sighed and settled back against her seat. "So do you think the lessons we just agreed on are going to be a purely practical exchange? Are we to be student and teacher and strictly professional, Maestro?"

Erik couldn't manage to formulate a reply. The truth was that he didn't know _what_ to think about this whole bizarre situation. Never had he allowed himself to dream that Christine could ever actually bring herself to forgive him.

Tolerating his presence in exchange for lessons that could prove useful to her seemed almost comprehensible, but the idea of her extending her friendship again, after he had betrayed her trust and broken down in front of her and revealed himself as the crazed, desperate creature he had always sought to hide from her...

"Erik. I wouldn't have texted you tonight if I hadn't been ready to work things out between us." She rested a hand on top of his, where it had yet to relinquish its grip of the steering wheel. "As long as you're willing to respect my boundaries and be honest with me, I'm willing to show you what healthy relationships are supposed to be like."

Erik's hand spasmed beneath hers. " _Why_?" he choked, suddenly unable to hold back. "Why would you be willing to forgive that behavior of _anyone_ , much less someone like me?"

"Because I've missed you," she answered matter-of-factly.

Erik forgot how to breathe.

"I could say it's because you've had a rough go of it, and it seems unreasonable to expect you to fall perfectly in line with societal norms when society seems to have done its best to reject you your whole life. Or because you've done nothing but try to take care of me since the day that we met, and as much as I tried to convince myself that I should be afraid of you, I can't bring myself to believe that you would ever hurt me."

His eyes slammed shut to fight back the sting of tears that threatened to fall.

"But honestly, I just missed you. I missed drinking pretentious tea and singing together and spending hours debating who the funniest member of Monty Python is."

"Graham Chapman," he interjected in a strained whisper, his eyes still closed.

"John Cleese, you ridiculous man," she countered, fondly exasperated. "Now turn off the car and come upstairs me with so I can spend all night telling you why you're wrong."

Finally confident his tear ducts wouldn't betray him, Erik opened his eyes to meet hers, a smile slowly breaking out across his face. "Yes ma'am."

* * *

Sooooo... Erik's got a body in his freezer. But, hey! They've made up!

Thanks so much to everyone who took the time to review! All of the people yelling at me for being mean to the characters inspired me to churn this chapter out quickly. I would love to hear what y'all thought of this one! And also who you think the funniest Python is.


	7. Chapter 7

Christine sat in the windowsill of her living room two weeks later, soaking up the sun's rays and scanning the parking lot as she waited for Erik to arrive.

It was decided on the night of their reconciliation, over tea brewed in the blue kettle she had never quite managed to throw out, that Erik would give her rides home from work on Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays, when his own schedule permitted. And when he was otherwise busy on those nights, she agreed to take an Uber home rather than walk. He had tried to offer to finance those trips, but she had adamantly refused.

Christine had also agreed to reach out to him if she ever had to make a delivery for the Shah on a night when she wasn't with him, hopefully to secure an escort, but if nothing else so that someone would know where she was supposed to be and be able to check up on her.

And as Sundays and Mondays were the only days she had free from either rehearsals or work, they decided that her lessons would be held on Monday afternoons. However, Erik had been out of town on 'business' last week, whatever that entailed, so this was her first official round of self-defense and vocal lessons.

Since Christine's apartment was cramped enough that any physical activity would likely prove hazardous to her belongings, Erik had agreed to host them at his house, and she was excited for the opportunity to see where he lived and get to know him a bit better. For all the time they had spent together, he was still so very private and secretive about so many things. Her discussion with Nadir on the night of their reunion was the first time she'd learned anything of his past.

Distracted from her musings by the sight of Erik's car gliding into the lot, Christine grabbed her backpack and ran out the door.

"Hey, Mr. Miyagi!" she proclaimed brightly, settling into the passenger seat beside him. "Ready to get to work?"

Erik glanced at her, his eyes sliding over her leggings, tank top, and jaunty ponytail, and his lips twitched with a restrained smile. "Patience, young grasshopper."

"You're mixing your references," she noted disapprovingly

Erik gave her a flat look that she missed completely in favor of fumbling around in the center console for the auxiliary cable she knew he stored there.

"Mind if I take over as DJ? I made a few tweaks to my workout playlist to make it more appropriate for our lessons."

"Of course you did."

Christine took this muttered comment to be his consent, and Don Giovanni's "Dalla sua pace" was quickly replaced by the opening strains of "Kung Fu Fighting".

Erik gave a long-suffering sigh, but the look he shot her was fondly indulgent.

Christine amused herself singing along with the radio throughout the drive, but stuttered to a halt when she realized the secluded, two-story house at the end of the wooded street they were driving down was apparently their final destination. The home would be considered nice by any neighborhood's standards, but there in DC, this much space and privacy must have cost a fortune.

"Holy shit. Apparently you're better at this whole life of crime thing than me."

Erik pulled his car into the garage and parked. "Well, it helps that I've had about a decade more to work at it." His tone was flippant, but it was clear that he was pleased.

They walked to the door, and Erik was reaching out to insert his key when a booming onslaught of barks and the frantic clatter of nails on linoleum sounded from inside.

"Oh, I should probably warn you. I have a dog."

"Yeah, I was starting to get that." She raised an eyebrow when he continued to stand in place with his key inserted in the lock. "Are you going to let me in to meet it?"

Erik hesitated a moment. "Of course. I just feel it necessary to warn you that his appearance can be rather... alarming, to some. But I assure you he is completely harmless."

Christine gave an impatient huff and shouldered past Erik to push the door open.

As soon as she entered, she was nearly bowled over by a massive pitbull. She sank quickly to her knees to stabilize herself, laughing as the dog licked her face enthusiastically.

"Hi, puppy!" she greeted, pulling back to get a good look at him. The hulking creature was sleek and muscled, with coal black fur that was peppered with silvery scars over his entire body. The most notable of these scars twisted down half of his face, starting at a shredded, drooping ear, cutting through an empty eye socket, and ending halfway down his muzzle.

"Poor puppy! What happened to you?" Christine wrapped her arms around his stout neck and pressed a kiss onto the scarred side of his head.

"I rescued him from dog fighters." Erik's voice held a strange note to it, and she glanced up to find him looking at her as if he could scarcely believe she were real.

She cocked her head in confusion, but was distracted by her sudden remembrance of what Nadir had told her about the foster father Erik had been taken from. Her heart clenched for both him and the dog he had saved from a similar fate.

When the creature propped its massive paws on her shoulders to gain better access to her face, Erik shook himself from his seeming reverie and stepped forward.

"Mahler, that's enough! Come here."

The dog obeyed instantly, trotting over to Erik with his tail thumping enthusiastically.

Christine stood and wiped her face with the hem of her tanktop. "You named him Mahler?"

He shrugged. "It seemed to fit."

Christine laughed and shook her head. "Only you," she muttered, fondly.

Erik curled nervous fingers into Mahler's fur and shifted from foot to foot, seemingly at a loss. "So... Shall we begin?"

At her eager nod, Erik led her through a spacious living room, the bookshelves lining the walls the only thing lending personality to the otherwise minimalist décor. She wasn't given much chance to study their contents, though, before she was guided through a hallway and down a flight of stairs to a finished basement.

He took her to what was clearly a fitness room, with an impressive array of exercise equipment around its perimeter and an empty section in the middle where gym mats lined the floor.

Seeing the well-stocked room, Christine couldn't help but cast an assessing glance over Erik's physique, which was better displayed than usual in his t-shirt and sweatpants than in the suits he wore to visit the club. He would never be a bulky man (she suspected he didn't eat with enough regularity to ever give himself the chance), but he was certainly toned. With his deathly pale skin stretched tight over sharply defined muscles, seemingly without an ounce of fat to soften his frame, he looked almost more like a statue that had been chiseled out of marble than a living human. There was a surprising amount of strength contained within his bony hands and his tall, slender frame, as well as a strange sort of elegance, and Christine had to admit that there was a certain appeal to it.

She noted that he wore a different mask than usual, ostensibly to suit their more athletic endeavors, one made of padded black cotton instead of hard leather. His amber eyes were more visible than normal, and looked slightly sunken into their sockets, and the outline of his cheekbones stood out starkly from seemingly gaunt cheeks. Her mind inappropriately jumped to thoughts of her childhood crush on Jack Skellington from the Nightmare Before Christmas. Blushing, she quickly pushed her thoughts away and tried to focus.

"I wasn't expecting you to be quite so prepared," she commented, gesturing to the thick blue mats on the floor.

Erik just shrugged, looking slightly uncomfortable. "Nadir and I sometimes spar together in our free time. Being able to beat each other up on occasion has done wonders for our friendship."

Christine laughed. "Maybe Meg and I should have tried something like that. I love the girl to death, but sometimes, when we were living in the dorm together..."

Erik smirked. "Perhaps you can vent your frustrations next time under the guise of teaching her what you've learned here."

"Well in that case, let's get to learning!"

They started out simple, with Erik giving her some basic kickboxing instruction on how to properly land a kick and throw a punch. While they practiced, Erik admitted that he'd never been formally taught any sort of fighting technique, but as an adult he'd studied on his own to refine whatever skills he'd been forced to acquire as a teenager.

She was surprised he'd even admitted that much about his past, and wondered suddenly if he knew about the conversation she and Nadir had, or if he'd just let the information slip because he was feeling more comfortable around her.

Though, she was forced to reassess any notions of his comfort with her, once it came time to move to other topics of instruction.

Christine wiped away a strand of hair that had fallen loose from her ponytail and plastered itself to her sweaty forehead, then raised a questioning eyebrow at the man who stood tense and motionless several feet in front of her. And had been standing tense and motionless several feet in front of her for the past several minutes, ever since he had declared that it was time she learn how to break out of some holds.

"Okay, so... In order to do that, won't I kind of need to be, well, held?"

Erik jerked, as if coming back to awareness suddenly. "Yes... Yes, of course." With a look on his face as if he were marching to the gallows, he reluctantly walked over to stand beside Christine. "Please forgive me for the intrusion, but I suppose it is a necessary part of the tutelage..."

His mellifluous, otherworldly voice sounded almost wobbly in his anxiety, and Christine was torn between amusement and sorrow that this powerful man was reduced to such a state merely at the thought of having to put his arms around her. She found herself hating his mother and classmates and anyone else in his past who had helped to teach him that his touch would always be unwelcome.

"It's fine, Erik. Really." She gave him a reassuring smile.

After several moments, Erik's cold, callused fingers wrapped gingerly around her forearm. Christine almost laughed. This was what he was so nervous about? But then she recalled that this was the first time he had initiated contact since their confrontation in her apartment, when she had jerked away from his touch in fear. It looked like she would have to work to undo that damage and build up his confidence, once again.

"Right," Erik began, jerking his eyes away from his grip on her wrist and nodding his head decisively. "Your first instinct if someone grabs onto you like this will likely be to try to pull away, but if the attacker is stronger, that won't do any good. Rather, you need to redirect their grip and use pressure to break their hold. So, place your other hand over my knuckles to hold me in place, then swing your arm around to twist my elbow to the outside, and grab onto my wrist to lock me in place."

Christine followed his instructions, until Erik's arm was stuck behind him with his elbow locked, his knees bent and one shoulder leaned forward to alleviate the pressure.

Mahler, who had been silently observing from the corner of the room, let out an anxious woof but didn't move to interfere. Christine supposed that he had gotten used to such non-malicious attacks on his owner from Erik and Nadir's sparring.

"Good. Now push down on my arm forcefully, and that should send me to my knees."

Christine, worried about causing him any discomfort, exerted gentle pressure on the arm she held captive. Erik remained standing and turned his head to eye her reproachfully.

"I said to push forcefully."

"I don't want to hurt you," she admitted.

"Trust me, my dear, I've endured far worse. Now do as I say or else I shall have to conclude that you aren't serious about wanting to learn any of this."

With a grimace, Christine shoved on his arm, and Erik collapsed to his knees before her. She released her hold, and Erik smiled up at her approvingly.

"Again," he commanded, and they spent the next few minutes practicing the maneuver.

Satisfied with that, Erik moved on to teaching her how to escape if someone grabbed her hair. His first grip on her ponytail was so feather light as to be completely unnoticeable by her, and Christine rolled her eyes at him.

"Erik, come on. You just got onto me for holding back on you. If someone ever does attack me for real, they're not going to treat me like I'm made of glass. You've got to give me something to work with here."

Erik's eyes widened in surprise, and no small amount of fear, but he finally tightened his grip until Christine felt a firm tug along her scalp. She immediately regretted her demand, not because it was uncomfortable, but because she may or may not have had a bit of a dominance fetish, and there was something incredibly arousing about Erik holding her captive with his grip on her hair.

"Now swing your arm over mine and bring your hand up so my elbow is trapped between your shoulder and your forearm. Good. Now push your arm up until I'm forced to the ground."

Christine did as she was told, and Erik was forced to release his grip on her hair and collapse to his knees beside her.

"Very good, Ms. Daaé." He peered up at her with a smirk on his lips and his eyes sparkling with pride, and Christine's pulse spiked at the thought of what else he could get up to while on his knees in front of her. Maybe her dominance fetish went both ways...

They continued in this way through several other scenarios, until it came time for Erik to teach her how escape from being pinned.

He stood before her with his eyes nervously darting around the room and his hands clenching at his sides. "Perhaps that is enough for today..."

Christine crossed her arms and cocked her head to the side suspiciously. "I thought you said you were going to give an overview of everything today, then focus on practicing and refining over the next few weeks?"

"Well, yes, I did, but-"

"So shouldn't the overview include being pinned?"

"I-I suppose. But the instruction for that will involve some... rather uncomfortable positions, and I would never want to-"

"Erik. Stop. I asked you to teach me this, remember?" She placed a hand on his shoulder and forced him to meet her gaze. "I promise I'm not going to get offended, or think that you're taking advantage of the situation. I trust you."

His throat bobbed with his nervous swallow, but he eventually nodded and gestured for her to lie back on the mat. Reluctantly, he knelt down and placed himself between her legs.

"We, uh, can start with an assailant trying to choke you," he muttered hoarsely. He then leaned forward and placed his hands lightly atop her throat. It was obvious that he was trying to keep as much distance between their bodies as possible, but even so the position was quite intimate.

Christine tried to imagine that it was Buquet atop her, rather than Erik, so that she could channel the appropriate emotions needed to try and free herself, but her body wasn't convinced.

"Now what?" she asked, in a voice almost as husky as Erik's.

"Now, you want to ensure that I can't escape before you've completed the rest of the maneuver, so you'll need to... to lock your legs behind my back."

Christine knew that flirting with him in this situation would only make him more uncomfortable, but she couldn't help her playful smirk as she complied with his wishes and lifted her hips to wrap her legs around him. "Now what?" she repeated, cocking an eyebrow at him.

When Erik finally responded, his voice was low and gravelly. "Now you wrap your arms around mine and pull my elbows inward. Then push down and tighten your legs so my arms are forced flat and I lose my leverage on your throat."

Christine did as he described, which had the unintended consequences of pressing his forearms against her breasts and forcing his body back and down until his face was very nearly pressed against her stomach.

Erik let out a hiss, and Christine immediately loosened her hold. "Oh, I'm sorry! Did I hurt you?"

"No, I'm fine," he replied breathlessly. "From here, you need to, uh, throw your legs over my shoulders." He cringed slightly, as if expecting her to berate him for asking such a thing.

Christine lifted her legs until her thighs were pressed against his biceps and her knees bordered his ears. Trying to lighten the mood somewhat and distract herself from her unruly hormones, she remarked, "You know, I think I saw this in a Bond movie, once. A woman choked Pierce Brosnan out using just her thighs."

Erik let out a startled bark of laughter, and when he replied his voice seemed a little more relaxed. "Perhaps we can master that technique on another day. For right now, you would want to keep my arms captive and push your hips up to force my elbows to overextend, then when I'm distracted from the pain, kick me in the gut and run away. We can practice the basics, but I would ask that you do so more gently than some of the other moves we've practiced. I wouldn't be much use to you as a teacher with broken arms."

Christine smiled and did as requested. They ran through the move only twice more before Erik pulled away from her, his eyes slightly wild.

"I think that's all my joints can take for the day. We can carry on next week."

Christine agreed easily, sensing that Erik had experienced about all the physical contact that he could handle for the day.

At her request, he showed her to a bathroom so she could rinse off and change out of her workout clothes, then quickly fled.

By the time she emerged from the bathroom, he had changed into jeans, a long-sleeved thermal shirt, and his typical leather mask, and seemed returned to his cold, composed self.

They stood in his spacious, elegant kitchen, all stainless appliances, black cabinets, and marble counters, drinking water and chatting idly until it was time to adjourn to the music room for her vocal lesson.

She stared in stunned amazement upon taking in the dizzying array of instruments laid out before her.

"Do you _play_ all of these?" she gasped.

Erik shrugged, looking somewhat self-conscious. "Some better than others. The hurdy gurdy is still a work in progress, certainly. But to some extent, yes."

She reached a wondering hand out to run over the rawhide drumhead of a djembe resting on the floor beside her. Then her eyes fell upon a glossy violin suspended from a wall stand, and her heart gave a familiar clench of pain.

Erik followed her gaze, and his expression softened. "I could play for you, if you like," he offered hesitantly. But she immediately shook her head.

"No. No… I don't—It's going to take some time until I can listen to violin music again, I think."

"Of course," his voice was a blanket of comfort, enveloping her in warmth and understanding.

"But if your offer still stands for other instruments, I wouldn't mind hearing how that hurdy gurdy is coming along." She swiped at the few tears that had slipped from her eyes and shot him a watery grin.

Erik huffed a laugh. "Perhaps after our lesson."

Recovering from her momentary lapse into grief, Christine took her place beside the gleaming grand piano that dominated most of the room and waited for Erik to begin his instruction.

This lesson passed in a much more relaxed fashion than the self-defense one, although Christine had to admit that hearing Erik's musical genius unleashed on an instrument that was actually worthy of it did funny things to her hormones.

"I think we should stop there, lest I strain your vocal chords," he remarked finally, after an hour or so had passed.

"And obviously you need them in good shape for when you steal them, sea witch."

Erik snorted, but otherwise refrained from responding.

Christine wandered over to the bookshelf lining one wall of the room, where several novels seemed to have overflowed from the living room collection to be interspersed here amongst the sheet music. Erik watched her from the corner of his eye and nervously plucked out a one-handed melody on the piano.

After a moment, he hesitantly offered, "Shall I take you ho-"

"Have you ever seen the movie adaptation of this?" she interrupted, holding up his copy of To Kill a Mockingbird.

Erik looked startled, but responded quickly enough. "I have not."

"Do you want to?"

His thin lips twitched up into a pleased smile. "Of course."

Christine beamed, replacing the book on the shelf and heading back out to the living room. She settled into a corner of Erik's black sectional sofa, and Mahler jumped up immediately to claim the spot beside her, settling his head on her thigh and wagging his tail when she moved to scratch behind his ears.

Erik gave the dog an almost resentful look as he sat at the other end of the sofa with the remote and navigated to a streaming service to locate their selected film.

She settled back to watch the movie, feeling perfectly content. Only a few minutes into it, though, her mind had begun to wander.

"How did you and Nadir meet?" she blurted out, then mentally face-palmed. She'd been curious ever since her encounter with the man a few weeks ago, but hadn't quite intended to work up to the topic with all the subtlety of a polka band.

Erik jerked startled eyes towards her.

"You've mentioned him plenty in passing, but never really told me much about him."

It took a long time for him to respond. "He told you about my childhood, didn't he?" It was phrased as a question, but he seemed already resigned to the answer.

"Yeah, he did," Christine admitted, staring at her nails.

"How much?"

"Just the basics, I think. Um, manic depressive mother, nasty classmates, abusive foster father."

Erik gave a bitter smirk. "Ladies and gentlemen, my life in ten words or less."

Christine blanched. "Erik, please don't be mad at Nadir. I didn't really give him a choice. I just... I needed to know-"

"Christine, I am hardly in a position to resent anyone for invading my privacy, after what I did to you. And if whatever Nadir said to you that night helped convince you to forgive me, I will never find cause to be angry about it." He stared at her for a moment, his heart in his eyes, before clearing his throat and launching into his story.

"I think I was thirteen or fourteen when we met. Nadir had just graduated from the police academy and started working for Baltimore PD." He paused and ran a nervous hand over his dark hair.

Christine could tell that this was not a story he wanted to share, but she fought against her instinctive urge to recant her question and end his discomfort. They were never going to get anywhere if he didn't learn to open up with her.

"He was on patrol one day when he ran into me having something of a... disagreement with several of my classmates. A group of them had decided they wanted to see what was under the mask, so they ambushed me on my way home from school."

Christine pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle any sympathetic noises that wanted to escape.

Erik continued with his matter-of-fact recounting, keeping his eyes firmly glued to the rug. "It was three against one, but I was used to that kind of thing by then, so I was holding my own. But one of them managed to knock the mask off eventually...Two of them ran off after that, but I got a hold of one. I was... rather vicious in my retaliation. I think I was on track to do permanent damage when Nadir intervened." He shot her a nervous glance at this admission.

"I hardly looked the innocent victim at that point, and I had something of a juvenile record already, so I was sure he was going to take me in for assault. But he simply told the other boy off for bullying and sent him on his way. And then bought me dinner from a street vendor." His lips twitched up at the corners. "He didn't ask about my face or say anything about the fight, and we ended up just chatting about mundane things while he walked me back to my foster family's apartment."

Christine smiled softly, touched by the story. But she was still reeling somewhat from the shock of learning that Nadir had once been a police officer. How on earth had he come to work for the Shah?

"We ran into each other a few more times after that," Erik continued. "I got the feeling he was going out of his way to be seen with me near the school so that my classmates wouldn't target me again. But then I got moved to a different foster family, this one in Bethesda, and we lost contact."

"So then when did you reconnect?" Christine asked gently.

"About ten years later." Erik went silent for so long that she was convinced she would get no more than that. But eventually he continued. "This next part of the story isn't really mine to tell... But, he did tell you all about my sordid past, after all... And somehow I don't think he would mind you knowing. You seemed to make quite an impression on him when you two spoke."

Christine remained silent, not wanting to push him one way or the other, and finally Erik continued in an uncharacteristically hesitant voice.

"Nadir had a family, a wife and son, who died in a car crash together."

Christine squeezed her eyes shut, feeling sick.

"After it happened, he fell apart," Erik continued somberly. "He was borderline suicidal, and he lost his job with the police force and eventually became addicted to heroin."

And there it was, that familiar rock in her gut whenever she was reminded of what it was capable of, this drug that she helped to distribute to people.

"When he ran out of money to feed his habit, he got desperate enough to rob his dealer of his entire supply. And when word of this reached Siavash, he sent me to... confront Nadir."

Erik glanced at his hands nervously and quickly continued. "When I realized who it was, I convinced Siavash that Nadir's law enforcement background made him valuable, and he agreed not to retaliate for the theft, so long as Nadir came to work for him."

Christine cleared the thickness from her throat. "Are you sure that was a good idea? Bringing a heroin addict to work for a dealer?"

Erik's shoulders sagged under the weight of his regret. "It was the only way I knew to save him, at the time. And the addiction was less of an issue after I, well, essentially kidnapped him," he admitted. At Christine's wide-eyed look, he hastened to explain. "Think of it as involuntary rehab. I held him in my home and helped him through the withdrawals until he was able to wean himself off of his dependency."

"Sounds like quite the bonding experience," Christine joked weakly.

Erik gave a crooked smile. "Yes, well, our friendship has never exactly been conventional."

Silence filled the room while Christine took the time to process everything she had learned.

"We're a pretty sad lot, huh?" she finally announced, glancing at Erik with a bleak smile. "The Shah's collection of broken things..."

Erik returned her smile with one equally melancholy. "A little less sad, I should think, now that we've found each other."

By way of response, she reached her hand out and entwined her fingers with his. Erik's eyes gleamed yellow with the strength of some emotion that Christine refused to quantify.

They settled back and watched the remainder of the movie in silence, their hands remaining linked on the couch between them.

* * *

Y'all's responses to the last chapter were amazing and made me so happy!

This chapter was a little tougher to write. I have zero experience with martial arts, so all of the descriptions here are me transcribing a youtube tutorial from a jiu jitsu black belt teaching basic self-defense techniques.

I do, however, have experience with loved ones dealing with substance abuse. And I know that getting over the physical dependency and withdrawals is not enough to keep a lot of people from lapsing back into an addiction. But in Nadir's case his addiction came about because of his grief, so I'm choosing to believe that Erik's help in overcoming the physical dependency, and then being there for him while he recovered from the loss of his family, was enough to keep Nadir from relapsing. So hopefully that doesn't seem too unrealistic.

Also, as several weeks have passed since the last chapter, we are to assume that Erik has had a chance to dispose of the contents in his garage freezer. One reviewer suggested the use of a bathtub full of acid or some other caustic chemical... I must say, I was maliciously pleased by how stressed some of y'all got over the body in the freezer thing.

Reviews bring love and expedited updates!


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